Nature of the Beast
by MiniKoontzy
Summary: When Bumblebee asked for help from Optimus he never expected his plea to actually be answered, responding in the form of a modest homicide investigator, a ruthless private detective, a socially anxious astronomer, a pacifistic healer, a wordy engineer, an amiable ne'er-do-well, and a Predacon with a chilly yet protective demeanor. But why them? Why not 'bots he knows?
1. Chapter 1: A Cry For Help

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

Hidden away in a secluded vintage salvage yard across the wide blue bay from Crown City a single black and yellow mech was staring into a large mirror on one end of the salvage yard. On the other side of the yard his ragtag team of 'Bots were busy arguing with each other while their two human hosts tried to get them to knock it off and get along for just five minutes, but he endeavored to ignore them to the best of his ability. There was a loud clanging noise that signified Sideswipe had probably been floored again by either Strongarm or Grimlock that made him wince just as he was about to say something to the mirror. Why did he have to be stuck with a bunch of nuisances who couldn't get along for a single day to save their lives? Emitting a faint groan, the yellow and black mech turned his focus back to the large mirror in front of him.

At any other point in Bumblebee's life he would've thought talking to a mirror was downright silly and made him look like a complete nutcase. It was an inanimate object made of metal and glass that couldn't talk back. Maybe he _was_ slowly losing his mind. But he wasn't about to argue with observation and facts. Each time Optimus had contacted him it had been through a reflective medium ranging from fountains to holographic keypads to lights above an elevator. He had yet to actually see the mirror method work but instinct told him it would – or should. There was no definite guarantee, but the mirror was a reflective surface, so technically it should work and let him communicate somehow. It was worth a shot. Wasn't like he had anything to lose, right?

"I swear we never gave you this much trouble," he sighed. "Did we?"

Only his silent reflection stared back at him.

He sighed again, starting to feel discouraged, "I know this might be asking too much...but could you somehow send some help? I don't care if it's just one 'Bot – I need some help keeping these guys in line _and_ combating an entire prison ship of Decepticons running rampant. Please, _please_ send some help my way. I really need it. If you can hear me..."

Right as he finished that sentence there was a low ominous rumble of thunder from way out in the distance. Far out past Crown City dark storm clouds were brewing as a midday rain shower built up to drench the city in cool water. Rational thinking told him that brewing storm had been the source of the noise, but a less rational part of his processor saw it as a sign that he had been heard.

* * *

In one of the massive metal buildings that made up the sprawling city of Praxus a lone mech toiled away in a large office space. He was rather startling in appearance with his brilliant gold and silver color scheme and his falcon-shaped helm. He was handsome in his own way though he would modestly deny such compliments as he considered them undeserved flattery. His height was nothing really spectacular at a modest twenty-two feet tall. Busily he worked away, low stacks of data pads neatly organized by date and relevance. Occasionally he would grab one and skim over the information within with a quick flicker of his dual-colored gold and silver optics. He was looking for something that connected two seemingly irrelevant cases. One was assault and robbery and the other was murder. All information pointed to an unidentified hit mech employed by the up-and-coming crime boss named Snapdragon, based out of the Tagan Heights.

With a soft sigh Counterforce laid aside the data pad in his hand and leaned forward onto his desk, folding his arms and resting his helm on them. He didn't need to look outside to know it was dark out – the near silence in the halls told him that almost everyone else had decided to call it a cycle and return home. He'd been at this all solar cycle but he doggedly refused to give up. Justice never slept as the humans said.

He was exhausted though. Maybe he could just shut his optics for a little while...

When the lieutenant in command of this particular law enforcement building passed by the open door that led into Counterforce's office he didn't see the young Praxian mech at first. His ceiling lights were on which indicated he was still there. The tall red and purple Seeker mech cocked a brow ridge curiously and ducked inside to see if the young investigator was still there and came upon a site he'd grown familiar to.

"Poor kid's worked himself into recharge again," he sighed fondly, shaking his head.

He had given up keeping track of how many times he had found him like this at the end of the solar cycle. Dedicated he most certainly was. Counterforce was his best officer by far. He took his job seriously but he did seem to enjoy it despite the grimness it brought to the table.

Quietly, so as not to wake the young investigator from his well-deserved rest, the mech pressed a hand onto a panel near the door's inner frame and silently darkened the room before leaving for the night. Counterforce had a home he could return to at any time but it wasn't unheard of for him to pass the night in the station. In any event there was no one awaiting his arrival at his residence – he lived alone. So far. Aegis knew about the teasing rumors percolating through his ranks.

* * *

He awoke to the sensation of being continuously yet gently shaken and poked and prodded. Blearily his dual-colored optics flickered back to life and he looked around to find who had been doing so. It took him a moment or two to come fully to his senses, and he was instantly on high alert when he found that no one was in the office with him. There was no one to be seen anywhere within his work space at all nor was there any trace of someone having been there in the first place. But he could've sworn someone had shaken him awake and he could've even sworn he had recalled someone whispering his name. Was this someone's idea of a prank?

Armor tightening, he activated his pale gold visor and searched around the room. Nothing – no faint scuff marks from pedes. No heat signatures on the surfaces. There wasn't even a residual spark energy trace to be found. This was going from strange to downright unnatural. Not even a cloaker could disappear this effectively. He slunk out into the darkened halls with growing apprehension in his spark. Instinctively he grabbed the hilt of the energy blade that hung against his hip and activated the weapon. Brilliant golden light was cast off the gently curved blade and provided a light source for him to use. But he could still detect no one in the halls in front of or behind him. His scanners were blank and his field did not react with anything nearby.

"H-Hello?" he called out down the hall. "Is someone there? Hello? Anyone? Please tell me this is someone's idea of a practical joke...Flint? Flint, are you doing this?"

He kept his optics fixated on the expanse of hall in front of him and slowly back stepped in the other direction. Apprehension was swiftly being replaced by fear at this point and his fight or flight response systems were switching on as his frame readied for a conflict. Energon was pumped into his sensory systems. His sense of hearing, smell, and sight became more acute. But despite all that the hand holding his weapon trembled imperceptibly. This felt like a scene out of a horror film.

He continued walking backwards until he hit something – or more accurately, from the feel and shape – some _one_.

With a yelp of fright Counterforce wheeled around, shut his optics, and unleashed a bright golden flash from his body that lit the hallway up like a supernova. Wildly his scimitar slashed at the unknown figure, leaving a shimmering arc of gold light behind it. A grunt of surprise told him his flare had successfully blinded his target and that he may or may not have successfully hit said target with his weapon as well.

Once certain the glare from his photon flare had faded he re-opened his optics to check to see who he had hit. He shuttered his optics twice in rapid succession at the sight. It was a black and red Seeker femme about seventeen feet tall, body accented with horns and glowing red details. Her previously burning Predacon yellow optics were now pale maize yellow from the flare. Her wings were angled to show irritation and there was an annoyed scowl on her faceplates. Her arms folded across her chest.

"Gee. Thanks for that, Sunbeam," she hissed. "Now I can't see worth scrap. You made me lose my target."

He gasped in horror and relief, "Primes! I'm sorry, Sen. If I'd known it was you I –" he cut off as his sharp mind began to work again. "Wait. What are you doing all the way over here in Praxus? You're a long way from Kaon. Are you here on business?"

Sentenza's frown lifted somewhat, "I was a tracking a shadow. First encountered it in Iacon near the Hall of Records, then it reappeared in Kaon the next day in an alley. Lost track of it after that, but when I came here the other solar cycle to talk with Half-Pint it showed up again right outside the joint. Followed it here. I was about to corner it when you showed up, panicked, and lit the place up like a firework."

He lowered his weapon, holstering it back on his hip, "A shadow? What do you mean?"

"I mean just that – a shadow. You know, not solid or distinct but definitely there? All I could see of it half the time was a pair of twin blue orbs and sometimes a little reddish-blue sphere about yay-big?" she gestured with her hands to show its size. "Whenever I get too close it disappears. Just _poof!_ and gone."

The way she described this shadow it sounded and behaved like it was intelligent, capable of thinking and planning. It didn't sound like a criminal with a strange ability. Criminals didn't lead their pursuers towards police stations in any event. He mulled the evidence over: twin blue orbs. A reddish-blue sphere. A form that could disappear at will and was obviously sentient. That wasn't enough to reach a conclusion. He needed more information. Everything was too vague. And thank Prima he could get more. Sen never failed when it came to observation.

Counterforce hemmed thoughtfully. "Where did you see it last in here? Maybe we can find it again."

During this exchange the Seeker femme's optics had slowly regained their bright yellow glow as they recovered from the photon flare. With her sight once again functioning she gestured for him to follow her and together they went off in search of her mysterious shadowy target.

* * *

"Woo-hoo! Yeah!"

A bright orange and red hovercycle with flamboyant flame decals all over its frame shot through the open roadways of Altihex in a blur, weaving between other slower vehicles like a flaming bullet. Shouts of irritation echoed behind him as someone swerved to avoid him and caused a pile-up collision. Ahead of him another roadway was under repair. Large metal beams leaned against the elevated roadway and gave the hovercycle an idea. This would be a perfect stunt to pull. He just had to hope those annoying patrollers who had no understanding of the word "fun" got on his tail.

Blaring his horn, he gunned his accelerator and shot ahead towards the impromptu ramp. One of the workers near the beams shouted at him to stop but he toned him out with a short laugh and a playful taunt. With a holler of pure delight he shot up and off the beam and went flying into the air. As gravity dragged him back down he angled himself to land, hit ground with a small bounce and sped on with another ecstatic cheer while the workers shouted after him – some in aggravation and some in wild awe at his stunt. Most of them just laughed. Honking again, he surged ahead onto the open highway that led outside the city where he could really let loose on speed. He continued to laugh uproariously, his attention focused on the city behind him in search of patrollers. He was a little surprised that none had come after him yet but he kept his focus behind him just in case. For the moment everything was perfect and he would enjoy it while it lasted.

After traveling for a good four hundred klicks north his scanners picked up a target ahead and he turned his attention briefly to the road in front of him in mild annoyance. This annoyance swiftly turned to alarm and shock that was so great it made his spark stop for a nanoklik.

"Holy frag!" he cried, slamming on his brakes and letting out a second startled curse.

He kept the brakes on as he slid sideways right towards the great blue and red figure standing in the middle of the open road. About a hundred or so feet – and still traveling at a considerable pace – Backdraft switched out of vehicle mode in an effort to slow down faster. It didn't work the way he had planned. Instead of the maneuver taking advantage of friction on his pedes he stumbled and flipped forwards onto his chest before skidding to a stop right at the figure's pedes. This was not one of his most stylish or gossamer hard stops – he was scuffed up and his brake mechanisms ached from overexertion.

' _I definitely could've done that better. Sloppy_.'

He took a moment to groan and recover and then shyly lifted his head to see who he had nearly run over. For the second time in less than a minute his spark stopped pulsing for a nanoklik. His amber optics went round. His jaw slackened. Standing there in the middle of the open and curiously empty road to Iacon was someone he had only heard about in stories and from his boss – someone who had sacrificed himself to bring Cybertron back online – someone who was no longer among the living. But there he was standing right in front of him and silently pointing in the direction of Iacon, dramatic and silent as a statue.

"O-Optimus Prime?" he stuttered. In mingled fright and reverence he scrambled backwards a little ways. "...I'm not in trouble, am I?"

The Prime made no verbal response. He continued to point in the direction of Iacon while keeping his vibrant blue optics locked on his bright amber ones. Then with a single encouraging nod of his helm he disappeared in a soft blue flash.

He shuttered his optics quick, "Oookay..."

He rose to his knee pikes and gave another hollow groan as he pushed himself to his trods. Weird stuff happened in Altihex every so often, as it did with any other city, but this was taking his city's reputation for strange and unusual and unique a little far. Reports of doppelganger shadows or floating light sphere or anything without an easy explanation was one thing. Nearly running over a long-dead Prime blocking your way on the IC-5 North was another thing.

Optimus wanted him to go to Iacon for some reason?

Slag it. Then he would go to Iacon. At least he could finally see Skylark's home city for once.

He transformed wordlessly and roared off down the road, a trail of fire in his wake.

* * *

In orbit around an enormous red giant star in the outer regions of the galaxy a sleek and streamlined blue and silver research ship orbited at a safe distance. Its blue and silver frame reflected the burning red light of the dying star and illuminated the beautiful Cybertronian script on the sides that gave the ship's designation:

 _CERF Tieyeian Bolt_

Secluded on the ship's bridge was a slender midnight blue and silver seven foot tall femme. Her helm was distinctly avian with two winglets extending off the sides of her helm and her frame was dotted with countless glittering lights that pulsed and twinkled along with her life force. Her unusually bright royal blue optics constantly flicked between a data pad in her tiny hand and the numerous readings the ship was gathering on the red giant star in real time. She made no sound for she relished these moments of near silence. All she could hear was the faint purr of the ship's engine and the electromagnetic death song coming from the red giant. It was soothing and helped her focus.

She twitched her wings slightly upon hearing the bridge doors hiss open to permit someone. Normally she would've sighed or groaned in aggravation at having her domain intruded on (without forewarning no less) and her peacefully studious silence interrupted, but a faint friendly pulse in her spark forestalled that reaction. Instead she turned around with a fond smile. Entering the bridge was a youngish blue and yellow mech with cheerful blue optics and an Autobot Elite Guard crest on his arm. In accordance with his youth there were dozens of little light up bits all over his body and he had the angular, handsome build of a young adult.

"Hiya, Smoke," she chirped lightly. Then she turned her attention back to the readings and her data pad.

She tried to ignore the sound of his approach but failed. His gentle nudges of her spark and field as he drew nearer told her he was curious. She felt him lay a gentle hand on her pauldron that she hadn't even known was held taught by subconscious anxiety and unconsciously purred when he stroked it, making her uneasiness evaporate and her whole frame loosen up.

"Whatcha doin' Zee?" he asked, leaning forward onto the controls.

She smiled, holding up the data pad. "Nerd stuff. You wouldn't be interested."

He frowned playfully, lightly poking her between the optics, "Hey, now that's not fair. Just because I'm not a genius like you doesn't mean I won't be interested in your science-y work stuff. Why are we orbiting a dying star again? I couldn't follow half of what your fellow nerds were saying."

Zodiac chuckled and pointed out at the great red ball of plasma visible through the windows. Then she handed him the data pad, "We're here because we had reason to believe this star is a rare hybrid class called a Thorne-Żytkow Object. This star used to be part of a binary system until the companion star went supernova and formed a neutron star. Readings have shown the red giant is producing large amounts of the elements lithium, rubidium and molybdenum – elements that red giants can't make naturally under normal conditions. So, basically a Thorne-Żytkow Object is a red giant or red supergiant star that has swallowed up a companion or wandering neutron star. Once the neutron star settles into the red giant's core it forces it to carry out different kinds of nuclear fusion than it does ordinarily. We're here to confirm if it really is one, 'cause if so it's the first one ever found. Kind of a big deal,"

She finished with a mischievous wink directed at the mentally dazed mech. It was so easy and so fun to get him lost. Confusing him with big words and science talk was downright hilarious.

She smiled and clarified in a teasingly slow voice, gesturing with her hands as she explained in much simpler terms, "Red giant star ate neutron star. Neutron star makes red giant have indigestion. Comprende?"

His confusion lifted instantaneously. "Oh! So...clarify for me: What makes this thing so special that it brought one of the best, brightest, most amazing space minds on Cybertron across the entire galaxy just to look at it and take a bunch of notes? I mean it doesn't sound as cool as, like, black holes or anything."

She smiled indulgently at his question, tapping him on his helm bridge, "Because these things are supposed to be purely theoretical and un-proven as of yet. Now we know they are very real – well, if these readings are accurate anyways. And these objects don't last forever. Sometime in the future this red giant is going to poof out of existence and we'll never get another chance to study it again until another Thorne-Żytkow Object is located. These things don't grow like tulips in a field you know."

Smokescreen nodded in understanding, reflecting on the information. Then he lightly bonked his head against hers with a smile. This little Avioid was special, he'd always felt that. For someone so immersed in her subject and famed for being the first Predacon star-ship captain she was ironically extremely shy – to the point where the mere prospect of interacting with others terrified her – so befriending her and later starting a friendship with her had actually been a unique challenge for him. She was worth it though. He had never once doubted she was the one. She completed him. She was the brains to his social brawn.

"Nerd," he teased.

Zodiac rolled her optics with a smile of her own. "Oh shut up. You know you like my nerdiness. I'm quirky and nerdy and you like it."

She purred again when he stroked her wings and nuzzled her with his helm. This was the main reason she'd let him tag along on this mission. He was the only one who could keep her calm and could help her relax after working too hard. It was a well-known fact to those in the astronomical and scientific community who worked with her that Zodiac had a bad habit of stressing out over the littlest of problems, often blowing them way out of proportion. Then her attention turned to the console which was suddenly blinking with a sense of urgency. Across the wide holographic display screen was a set of highly specific coordinates on Cybertron – the Iacon Spacebridge Hub to be exact – and a message: " _An old friend is in need. Go,_ " Zodiac read aloud, one tiny brow ridge rising perplexedly. Down at the very bottom in very tiny print was a glyph name written in very old Iaconian dialect that she couldn't decipher.

She looked back at Smokescreen who shrugged cluelessly, "Don't look at me. I'm not a linguist," he said.

Zodiac considered the strange transmission for a moment in silence, lightly stroking her chin. There was something about this message that filled her with a sense of urgency, and from the looks of things Smokescreen felt similarly. And something else about it too was off – but it wasn't something she could put her digit on. But if some friend of Smoke's was in trouble...shouldn't they at least investigate? See if someone really did need help? She wasn't one to turn her back on someone who needed an assist. Friend of Smokescreen's was a friend of hers. Simple as that.

With a firm, determined nod of her head she flew over to the ship's controls. She typed away on the holographic control panel quickly. In response the vessel began to bank around and angle away from the strange red giant star before heading off back into the void. Then she brought up a communication line to the Spacebridge Hub back on Cybertron.

"Spacebridge Control, this is Captain Zodiac requesting transport back to Cybertronian space. Mission parameters met and required data gathered. Over," she said crisply.

There was a soft crackle from the communication relay due to the star's electromagnetic inference, but the reply came through with decent clarity as they drew farther away, [Roger that, Captain. Sending transport. Maintain your heading!] a gruff male voice replied.

Zodiac kept the research vessel headed in a straight line away from the red giant star. Ahead of it a large green swirling vortex silently roared open to meet it. She forced the ship onward into the vortex, easily slipping the small vessel right into its center with room to spare. And just like that the portal snapped shut and the _CERF Tieyeian Bolt_ disappeared like a mechanical phantasm. Far behind it the red giant burned calmly in the black void of deep space.

* * *

Crystal City wasn't actually made of crystal. It was actually named in a kind of dual meaning. Literally it was named for the iconic Crystal Gardens in the center of the city. Metaphorically it paid tribute to the main inhabitants – scientists, inventors, researchers, and even a sprinkling of philosophers. There was a reason it was nicknamed as "City of Savants" by outsiders. One of these selfsame engineers was in the middle of basic maintenance on his arm-mounted wind cannons in a complex of buildings dedicated to aerospace engineering. Behind him on a platform was the engine of a Cybertronian freighter ship, newly repaired and functioning again. This inventive mech was very dark purple with bright lightning yellow detailing and optics. He had a distinctly aquatic body scheme and stood at around twenty feet in height. There was a special removable visor clamped down over his optics to magnify and clarify his vision and on the table he was sitting at were a slew of instruments. A hand went up to flip down a higher focus visor lens.

As far as he knew he was the only mech in this particular building right now, but he didn't mind that. It meant fewer distractions. But as the breems ticked by he became aware of the unnerving silence becoming more and more pronounced. It was as if the building itself had fallen offline. He could hear no noise from outside his work bay or even from the building itself. Silence, complete and engulfing. Curiosity got the better of him at last. He laid aside his tools and got up from his work bench to investigate. Assuming there might be trouble he powered up his twin wind cannons, keeping them idling. If anyone attempted to ambush him he would send them flying. He poked his helm outside the doors of his work bay and glanced first down the corridor to his right. There was nothing to arouse suspicion, but it didn't lessen his confusion any. Then he glanced down the corridor to his left and saw something move just as it vanished around a corner. Whatever it was it moved in total silence and with an almost fluid nature. It didn't walk like a normal being – it flowed, wafted. Like a liquid shadow or a plasma sample.

Curiosity took over completely. He transformed into his vehicle mode and pursued it down hall after hall. No matter how fast he tore down the corridors he could never catch it. It was at the corners when he entered into a hallway and then it would vanish again, leaving him to struggle to keep up with it.

Whatever it was it definitely wasn't a 'Bot. He was certain of that.

* * *

A single dainty tri-shade green femme strolled down one of the halls that made up the Iacon Hall of Healing. Her entire design was beautiful and slender, graceful. Every movement she made was a subtle dance step. She passed by numerous rooms on her way down the corridor, stopping by one that was occupied. The door opened, let her helm peek in to give the occupant a gently comforting smile, one hand curling around the door's frame.

"You doing okay, Hotfoot?"

The burly Harian in the room thumped his massive un-damaged trod and nodded.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said. "I'll be back soon to run another diagnostic."

She left the Harian. Continuing her round, she pulled out a datapad from subspace to review the notes on the Harian. The anti-virus had already been injected to counter the rust-hound's virus, but the physical damage would take some time to correct. Harian armor was among the weakest of all Predacons, and rust hounds had some nasty dental plates and claws.

"Note to self," she murmured. "Convince Predaking that firewall updates are needed for older models..."

Then a deep, rumbling voice spoke from behind and made her yip in surprise, "Charity I assume?"

She wheeled around with a squeak of surprise. And then she stood staring wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and seemingly frozen in place at what she saw. But she wasn't afraid. She felt no fear – only awe and reverence. It took every ounce of willpower to resist the urge to kneel. For standing there in the hallway like it was a perfectly ordinary, every-solar-cycle happening was the legendary Optimus Prime. His expression was stern in a way but there was a faint smile on his faceplates that put her at ease. She finally gave in to the urge to politely bow to him. Someone of his reputation deserved some respect.

"Um..." her voice came out as a squeak. She tried again, "I-Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

He considered her for a moment as though deeply debating what to say to her. His head tilted ever so slightly to one side. The smile grew by a fraction.

"Yes. I believe there is something you can assist me with, Charity," he finally said. His voice was just how Knockout and Smokescreen had described: warm, gentle, well-learned, and infinitely polite, "If you are willing, of course."

He held out a hand and as the femme medic watched a data pad formed out of nothing. The Prime then handed it to her.

In a daze the femme examined the data pad. There was nothing on it except for a set of coordinates that led to the Iacon Spacebridge Hub. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. She'd seen some peculiar things at this clinic but this might be the most peculiar by far: a deceased Prime appearing from nowhere and handing her a datapad formed from thin air with ambiguous data on it.

Charity's slender brows furrowed. "Sir, why –?" she began.

Her helm lifted to meet his blue gaze but the Prime was nowhere to be found. The logical part of her processor said this might have been some strange hallucination (such things were known to happen under stress) but the datapad in her hands was definitely real. Her senses could not deny that. And for that matter, why in the name of the Maker would she hallucinate someone she had never met?

Her hand went to her audial, "Sir?"

[Darling? What is it?]

"Ah, something's come up. A request from someone...not from here."

[I love that you're making a name for yourself, little hummingbird, but this is out of nowhere. Who asked for you? Where are they from?]

She thought fast, "A friend from Harmonex."

Lying to him felt wrong, but telling him the truth she felt that would only confuse matters further and eat up precious time. Optimus, while not obviously in a rush, had seemed severe and somewhat worried. The suave voice on the other end sounded ready to argue over who she knew from Harmonex but she cut the link right afterwards. Out of in-grained instinct she grabbed her kit from the shelf beside her. With that the femme transformed and dashed out of the clinic towards the Iacon Spacebridge Hub. She didn't know why she was headed there but if a Prime was giving the order she would not disobey – not this Prime.

* * *

 **Author's Note: This is my first attempt into RiD 2015 territory in terms of stories! Hope you guys enjoy!**

 **P.S: Frostbite will be showing up next chapter. I try to keep around 5,000 words per chapter. Ciao!**


	2. Chapter 2: Rendezvous

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

Far outside Iacon there was a sweet musical howl that echoed across the flat expanse of land. It flowed and ebbed like the tides of the watery oceans of Earth, wafting over the landscape and towards the glittering city on the horizon. It continued on in a kind of primal song that was both haunting and strangely soothing to listen to, wafting over the canyons sun-washed landscape. The source of this musical howling was a well built, lithe, and muscular-looking Predacon whose wolfish body bore the color of a Europan glacier. His large audials were standing on end, pricked straight up while he listened for a reply from a fellow Predacon. His tail swished occasionally in eager anticipation, bright blue optics focused ahead of him.

When no immediate reply came he lifted his helm skyward once more and loosed another one of his haunting howling melodies. Then he stopped again to listen for a reply. Out in the distance a great dark shape was approaching. After a minute or so of silence it came at long last – a loud roar filled Frostbite's audials that drew ever closer as his mighty Guardian approached from the south east. He howled in sync with it, creating an unusual animalistic duet of roars and howls.

Frostbite watched eagerly as a great metal dragon soared in. It tucked its amber wings in and dove towards him, flaring them out and landing in front of the mechanical wolf with a loud thud, its greater size making it tower over the smaller mechanical wolf. He gently touched his snout to the dragon's muzzle in greeting. Frostbite then lowered his helm and issued a respectful whine.

"Is something wrong, Frostbite?" the dragon – Predaking – growled inquisitively in the native language of the Predacons.

Frostbite bobbed his head, sniffing at the air. He told him what he had seen from his post.

"Something is wrong in Iacon. I have made note of strangers from Praxus and Altihex coming independently of each other but all apparently headed to the same place. The _Tieyeian Bolt_ returned earlier than scheduled and also made for the same location."

Predaking's tail swished. His head swiveled to gaze out at Iacon. Frankly that did not strike him as strange. That could simply be an uncanny coincidence. Finally he turned back to his charge and said:

"I fail to see how the arrival of strangers from the other cities and the unscheduled arrival of a research ship give you cause for alarm. Iacon is the capitol after all. Mechs and femmes from all over Cybertron arrive here on a daily basis. And a research vessel returning a little earlier than expected doesn't exactly mean the end of the world is coming. Their captain is quite a talented star-watcher so I've heard. Perhaps they simply gathered what they needed faster than they thought they would."

"Let me investigate." Frostbite insisted stubbornly. "Something's not right. I can feel it. If innocent mechs and femmes are hurt because I failed to act I will never forgive myself. Something...something is in the air. A tension. The winds are wary – agitated. Trouble blows."

Predaking gazed at the young wolf curiously. The youngling's self-obligation towards the inhabitants of Iacon he had always found to be strange. Predacons were not exactly looked on in the kindliest of lights by the vehicle-formers of the various cities, and Iacon was no exception. They were seen and thought of as savage beasts. Frostbite, however, had managed to earn the implicit trust of Iacon's inhabitants by showing them that such a label was not only unfair to the Predacon species as a whole but outright wrong. His renowned abilities and unexpected chivalry had earned him the nickname "White Hound of Iacon" or more simply "Snow Hound." One grateful mech had even given him the nickname "Herald of Onyx" after he had rescued him from a collapsed War tunnel. Unsurprisingly this had made Frostbite curl his tail in front of his face abashedly despite feeling immensely proud. Being called a herald of the Firstforged Predacon was an immense compliment in it self – but for a Predacon it was an honor.

Predaking met the icy blue optics of Frostbite evenly as he thought over this. There was something...something within Frostbite that made him different from his siblings and kin. He held a certain honorable nobility – a child-like chivalry. He did not help because he wanted something in return, rather he helped because he wanted to. Eventually the dragon sighed, gusting air out of his mouth and his neck vents. Arguing with the youngling was the same as arguing with himself due to how stubborn he was. If Frostbite felt he had to do this then he would not hold him back. The hunter-scout clearly believed something was wrong. Predaking had learned over the time of raising him to trust the young wolf's instincts – they had often proved right. He had an uncanny, almost dream-walker like ability to sense trouble on the winds.

"Go then." he growled softly, touching muzzles with the smaller wolf. "Find your answers."

Frostbite barked happily, lightly licking the larger dragon in his excitement: "Thank you!"

"But I expect you back by sundown. Am I clear?"

The wolf's helm bowed. "Yes, Æfæn."

And just like that he bounded off towards the city of Iacon on the horizon as fast as his four legs could carry him. Reaching a rise on the flat plains he threw his head back and howled in order to warn the city's dutiful protectors of one thing:

The White Hound of Iacon was coming.

* * *

Iacon was a naturally bustling city that was constantly moving, so the arrival of five strangers from the city and from outside of it failed to raise any great amounts of suspicion. Only Frostbite's arrival within the city limits caused a few double takes from the inhabitants – he only ever came into the city on business.

The icy blue mechanical wolf bounded down the streets at breakneck pace, dodging vehicles and pedestrians with skillful ease. A few civilians even had the graciousness to holler a greeting to him as he swept by them in an icy blue blur of movement and rapid panting. Frostbite, though focused on the task at hand, politely barked back at them in reply. On skidding around a corner his sensitive audial receptors picked up the telltale scream of a Seeker's engine. He looked up just in time to observe a pitch black and blood red sleek aircraft with curved wings shoot over head in the direction he was heading. He recalled seeing this same aircraft come in from the direction of Praxus earlier, followed by a golden and silver land-based vehicle.

Where was the shining golden vehicle he had seen earlier?

As if in reply to his silent question a golden and silver vehicle roared past him in the streets in a brilliant flash of elegance that seemed in heavy contrast to his simple Praxus Investigative Squadron sigil and the mark of the fifteenth precinct on his side doors. Elegant but modest – a strange combination if there ever was one. Praxians did not oft visit the city either. He quickened his pace and darted after it, letting out a short bark at the vehicle. It honked its horn in reply, slowing its pace so as not to leave him behind. Another act of modest kindness that seemed at odds to the glittering vehicle.

"I'll wager you're heading to the Iacon Spacebridge Hub? My arrival and Sentenza's through your territory caught your attention, did it?" it asked, revealing a gently curious male voice that again seemed at odds to the vehicle's glorious, high-end appearance. He sounded quite young for a police officer. Very polite, too.

Frostbite barked confirmation. He didn't know this mech's comm. frequency so he wasn't able to use short band radio to communicate with him. And it didn't seem likely that a police investigator would have enough spare time on his hands to learn the Predacon language. Canipian was a challenge to learn owing to its growling annunciations and simple yet complex words.

They continued onward towards their final destination in companionable silence. Frostbite seemed pleased that this officer of the law didn't mind a mechanical wolf tailing him. Strangely enough the golden vehicle and its voice seemed vaguely familiar to him, but for the spark in him he couldn't place a name.

* * *

[Huh. Looks like we got celebrity attention on our tailpipes. That's the White Hound you've got as an escort, nightlight.]

[The White Hound of Iacon?] Counterforce repeated, surprised. This was his first time seeing him. [Well, it makes sense he would investigate our arrival. We did pass through the Well Guardians' territory on our way here. I guess he'll stick with us to make sure we don't cause problems. I know the reports said he's protective of the city. That aside, you've still got tabs on those other signals?]

[Yup. Converging on the same spot as we are – the Iacon Spacebridge Hub.] she replied curtly. [There's somethin' funny going on here, nightlight. I don't like it. This whole thing feels like a set-up. We were _led_ here. I get that now. That weird shadow we're tracking vanished as we got near here. Where the heck did it go? I don't have it on scanners, and I don't see it anywhere.]

Counterforce was inclined to agree with her. Random mechs and femmes from all over converging on the Spacebridge Hub – the Iacon one in particular – was definitely out of the ordinary and got the investigator's processor turning. Using it required the Council's permission, and it had some pretty heavy security to keep out trespassers. Furthermore, they had tracked the strange shadow entity all the way out here, but just as they had neared Iacon it had disappeared entirely. No visual sights, and nothing on their scanners. It had led them here – for what, exactly? Would it not offer any more guidance? Or was the set-up over and done with?

He turned his attention back to the mechanical wolf running at his side. Introductions were probably in order at this point. This famed Predacon was clearly headed in the same direction they were seeing as he hadn't left yet.

"Ah, allow me to introduce myself. My name's Counterforce – I'm a homicide investigator from Praxus. Above us is Sentenza – she's a private detective who works in this general area. You may or may not know of her. She works pretty often with the Well Guardians. Let me give you my comm. frequency so you can actually talk to me."

He sent out a data transmission to the mechanical wolf. There was a slight ping as the wolf received it and opened a channel.

"What's your name?"

[Name's Frostbite. Came here to investigate the strange arrivals. You two included.] The wolf's voice was a low growl that was icy in tone though not exactly unfriendly. Clearly he was not one to engage in idle chit-chat, but that didn't automatically label him as unsociable or rude by any means. He just wasn't very chatty around strangers. Counterforce couldn't really blame him for that. Predacons tended to be a bit mistrustful of city-dwellers.

"Pleasure to meet you, Frostbite." Counterforce answered graciously.

[You two colleagues?] Frostbite asked, pointing his snout upwards towards the black aircraft flying above them.

Counterforce chuckled lightly. "I suppose in a sense you could say we are. Her social connections and knowledge of the criminal underworld make her a valuable source of information to law enforcement of every city. I've simply happened to have the great fortune of working with her once or twice in the field. We're, ah, we're also friends."

[Iacon Spacebridge Hub – dead ahead.] Sentenza announced, butting in on their conversation rather unceremoniously and cutting it short.

Ahead of them loomed a one-story building that sprawled out in a massive complex. This building not only housed the network of spacebridges that connected Cybertron to their allies' worlds and their colony worlds, but it also played the double role of containing some of the brightest spacebridge technicians on the entire planet. Intelligent mechs and femmes were needed to maintain the vortexes and ensure no accidents or technical glitches occurred when using them. Whether or not they would actually let them use one of the spacebridge arches remained to be seen. Technically speaking one needed permission from the Council to go off world for any reason.

They raced towards it in barely concealed anticipation. A few hundred meters away Sentenza gave an inarticulate cry before exclaiming:

"It's the shadow! I just saw it! It went inside! Go, go, go! Before we lose it again!"

She shot ahead in a high-pitched scream of her engine. On approach to the complex's entrance she transformed mid-air, readying to land in a skid so as not to lose any of her attained speed. It started out perfectly fine. However, this graceful maneuver came to a grinding, painful halt when a sleek dark purple and lightning yellow vehicle reached the entrance at the same time as she did. Sentenza cried out half a second before she barreled into the vehicle just as it transformed to try and absorb the impact. Both were sent tumbling inside in a tangle of limbs and wings.

Frostbite and Counterforce rushed in to check on the collision victims, the wolf darting up to sniff curiously at the two dazed Cybertronians. He wasn't picking up traces of Energon seeping out of any injuries so he set about helping them back to their pedes. He rightly chose to help the black Seeker femme up first. Sentenza's Predacon yellow optics flashed in agitation. Her curved wings were lowered aggressively at the other mech that the Predacon was helping to his pedes.

The dark purple and lightning yellow mech was instantly apologetic. "Sincerest apologies, miss. I was distracted by the energy signature I have been following from Crystal City and failed to notice your approach in consequence. I do hope you are unharmed."

He gave a funny, rather engaging little bow to her. Sentenza's wings perked up a little in surprise at his chivalric apology, her highly miffed expression lessening to one that almost looked contrite about her near outburst at him. Yelling at someone who had apologized before she had even gotten a word out seemed overly rude to her. He seemed nice enough, too – bit eccentric perhaps, but all around a decent mech.

"Wait, you were following something that led you here?" Counterforce demanded.

The mech turned to face him, lightning yellow optics alight in curiosity: "Indeed, officer. I lost physical sight of it when I left Crystal City but I was able to track it very successfully by following its unique energy signature. Rather an odd one I might say. I've never encountered anything quite like it before. Again, I apologize for cannoning into your friend. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings."

"What's your name?"

"Windstorm of Crystal City." He bowed again, this time more formally.

Counterforce nodded. He knew a little bit about this mech thanks to his involvement with the Cybertronian Exploration and Research Fleet. He was the chief engineer for some of the most advanced vessels in the entire fleet – a literal genius – and also slightly eccentric when it came to social interaction. He was also one to get distracted quite easily if reports about him were true. Hyper-attentive he was described as.

Sentenza caught onto the possibility of not having actually lost her quarry. "You said you were tracking it via energy output. Do you still have a bead on it, Windstorm?"

Windstorm lifted an arm up, activating a holographic display that he toyed with for a few moments. His faceplates scrunched in concentration as he tried to isolate the bizarre signal he had been following since leaving Crystal City. With a stifled exclamation and a child-like grin he found it once more.

"I do indeed, detective. Shall I take point or would you rather me follow behind and simply provide verbal directions? I will not argue if you chose the latter. I'm not exactly in your good graces at the moment considering our less-that-ceremonious encounter."

Sentenza had the grace to smile at him, gesturing ahead of her. "Lead the way, Windstorm."

* * *

Windstorm never once faltered as he led the Seeker femme and her two land-based companions down the labyrinthine maze of hallways that comprised the massive Hub complex. He was cordial in his interactions with all three of them, maintaining his chivalric politeness. Very talkative as well. Almost too talkative.

Sentenza filled him in on what she and Counterforce had discovered so far, along with the other signals she had detected and that were, as of that moment, just arriving in Iacon and closing on their position fast.

"Any theories as to what this thing is, Windstorm?" Counterforce inquired.

Windstorm remained silent for a time as he mulled over dozens of possible explanations as to the true nature of the energy they were currently tracking. Six he dismissed immediately due to several factors he had observed firsthand, along with Sentenza's provided information. One seemed to fit the bill quite well, but it still left certain things unaccounted for – like motive.

"My best theory is that this may be a disembodied spark we are dealing with. Why exactly it is leading seven seemingly random Cybertronians to the Iacon Spacebridge Hub, however, I cannot readily explain. It must have a reason, though. Of course, we might be dealing with a rather playful one and this may be no more than a large-scale joke for its entertainment."

Frostbite's metallic heckles raised on hearing this, but it wasn't out of fright or anger. Predacons held the spirits of the dead in high regard, considering them guardians and guides to the living. Having one openly interact with living mechs and femmes, no matter how indirectly (or playfully as the case might be) was considered an immense honor.

They reached a four way intersection and stopped. The wolf's ears pricked up as he detected incoming sounds from the other hallways – it sounded like multiple targets coming in hot.

He barked * _Incoming_!* over short band radio before crouching down defensively. Sentenza, Counterforce and Windstorm all backed up against the nearest wall, heeding the wolf's warning in a flash. They heard the same noise three or four kliks after he did, and they knew what was coming:

 _KRA-CRASH!_

Three different Cybertronians coming from three different directions diverged on the same spot at the exact same time in a spectacular collision that left a pile of midnight blue, tri-shade green and flaming red and orange lying sprawled and dazed in the center of the intersection.

Windstorm gaped open-mouthed first at the pile, then at Frostbite. "Nice call."

Frostbite bowed his head in acknowledgment of the compliment, slinking forward to ensure no injuries just as he had the last time. His examination revealed two femmes and a mech. One of the femmes was so small she was practically a mini-con, but she possessed distinctly Predacon-like features. The Canipid hesitated for a split second when he approached her and carefully helped her up. She was barely seven feet in height – the size of a typical mini-con! He hadn't even known Predacons came in such small sizes. From the wings she was clearly an Avioid of some variety. The other femme was dainty, beautiful and infinitely calm. The mech – well, he appeared more dazed than they did but at the same time highly entertained. There was a huge, boyish grin on his faceplates. Within astroseconds he was laughing.

"Woo! That was awesome!" hooted the mech. "Let's do it again!"

He helped the tri-shade green femme and the stupidly grinning flamboyant mech to their pedes. She modestly thanked him while the mech gave him a pleasant scritch behind his audial receptors in thanks.

"'Zee! 'Zee!" A young-ish sounding, frantic voice shouted from the corridor the midnight blue femme had come from.

The little midnight blue femme gave a hollow groan that almost sounded annoyed as she pushed herself up off the ground, neglecting Frostbite's proffered snout. Her mechanical wings twitched, but this only made her wince as she felt some of the internal mechanisms ache and creak. Down the hallways came a vibrant blue and yellow blur that transformed to reveal the Second-in-Command of the Elite Guard – Smokescreen – who rushed over to the little femme in a near panic. He knelt down to examine her like an overly worried Guardian.

"You okay? Nothing broken? No dents? No –" He reached out for her wings.

The little femme rolled her optics and swatted away the hand. "Oh for Primus's sake I'm _fine_ you big ninny! My wings are just a little sore, that's all!" Her voice wasn't harsh, but it was very annoyed – almost embarrassed.

His doorwings lowered apologetically. "Right. Sorry."

She turned back to face the odd assemblage of mechs and femmes. Having so many pairs of optics focused on her made her dart behind her bond-mate's legs shyly, wings lowered. She hated being in crowds, even if this crowd comprised of just six other 'Bots. It was the fact that they were strangers that was making her nervous.

Smokescreen eyed the small assembly curiously. His optics locked onto the green femme in surprise. "Charity? What the – what are you doing here?"

"I'm...not entirely sure?" she answered.

He blinked. This solar cycle was just getting weirder by the breem.

"Okay. Who are all of you?"

Counterforce, Windstorm, Sentenza, and Frostbite introduced themselves to him politely.

Upon hearing the name "Windstorm" the little femme poked her helm out from hiding, royal blue optics wide in wonder. She knew about this mech – he had been the one to design the _Tieyeian Bolt's_ internal systems and engine along with all of its scientific instruments! He'd even helped patch it up after the shields had taken a beating from a gamma ray burst! He was the reason she even had a ship of her own!

The others introduced themselves:

"I'm Backdraft!" the flamboyant fiery mech introduced, giving a little wave. "Nice to meetcha!"

He walked over to Frostbite and started to scratch behind his audials again. Frostbite enjoyed the pleasant scratching, sitting back on his haunches and emitting a low growl from his vocalizer. His tail started swishing unconsciously. Already he liked this mech.

Everyone's optics focused on the little form concealed behind Smokescreen's legs. They waited for her to poke her helm out and say who she was, but she absolutely refused to come out of hiding. Smokescreen looked behind him with a fondly amused expression before addressing them: "Ah, that's Zodiac. She's, ah, she's kinda shy. Doesn't like strangers very much – finds 'em scary and intimidating. She'll come out when she's ready."

Charity smiled softly and approached him, kneeling down in front of his left pede where she was hiding. She held out a hand. "Come on. It's alright, sweetie. We don't bite. Smokescreen knows me. He was in my clinic for a while; I even think I remember him talking to you on occasion."

One single royal blue optic peered around to gaze at her. Slowly but surely her entire helm soon poked out from her hiding place, tilted slightly to one side in curiosity. One little hand reached out for Charity's and soon enough Zodiac was out of hiding completely. Charity tapped her shoulder invitingly. Within moments she had a metallic hawk perched there looking quite comfortable and at ease. She patted the bird's head lightly. In reply Zodiac gently pecked at her face, making Charity giggle.

Smokescreen gawked at her in slack-jawed awe. It had taken him years to earn Zodiac's implicit trust and this femme had just pulled that feat off in less than two minutes! "H-How did you do that?"

Charity smiled sweetly, stroking the hawk's back. "Honestly there are some moments even _I_ don't know how I do it. But I've learned that a little kindness goes a long way."

"Ha!" Backdraft laughed, grinning and pointing at her. "Words o' wisdom, right there!"

"So...Where were you guys headed anyways?" Smokescreen asked them. "You all looked like you were going in the same direction, but it doesn't really look like you guys know each other all that well. Mind filling me in as we go wherever it is you're going?"

* * *

It took a while. Explanations carried on until they reached a specific spacebridge arch where Windstorm said the energy reading was spiking. Information came in two forms – short bursts and long-winded, technical explanations. The former came from Backdraft, Sentenza and Zodiac. The latter came mainly from Counterforce and Windstorm with a bit of input from Charity. Frostbite didn't really have much to say other than curiosity getting the better of him.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. Time out. _Two_ of you had some sort of paranormal encounter with Optimus?"

"Roger dodger." Backdraft replied lightly. "Maniac nearly gave me a spark attack when he popped up in the middle o' the road. Nearly ran the crazy guy over. He didn't say anything – just silently pointed towards Iacon looking all dramatic before poofing away again."

"He actually spoke with me, though it was a bit one sided." Charity confirmed. "He just handed me this –" She showed him the data pad he had given him. "He didn't say anything else which was a little strange now that I think of it. Just said I could in fact help him with something."

Smokescreen took the data pad and examined it. It looked like any other data pad. Highlighted on the lower half of the display screen was a set of geographic coordinates – the same ones that had been shown on the screen of the _Tieyeian Bolt_. Primus. This was getting weirder and weirder the more he looked into it. What in the heck was going on here?

"Okay. Work with me here for a klik. You give two random femmes who _don't_ know each other the _same_ set of galactic coordinates while leading a bunch of other 'Bots to the Iacon Spacebridge Hub – to this specific 'bridge arch – by a bunch of different weird methods. But you haven't told anyone what exactly it is you want them here _for..._ "

He looked upwards, one brow ridge rising. "What the heck are you up to?"

"Whatever Optimus Prime is up to it involves this spacebridge arch." Windstorm stated, pointing to the arch in question. "Smokescreen, if you would give me the data pad I will input the supplied coordinates."

Smokescreen nodded and handed him the mysterious data pad Optimus had given Charity. Windstorm politely took it and began inputting them into the console beside the arch. Once complete the spacebridge roared to life expectantly.

Everyone eyed each other as though debating whether or not to actually go through. This was downright crazy. They could all get in serious legal trouble if they did this, Smokescreen in particular. But the longer they stood there wordlessly debating this the more likely it was that the guards and the Council would catch onto this and attempt to stop them. One 'bot breaking the law was one thing, but an entire group? Many of them had careers that could be shattered by a jail sentence.

Counterforce entered into the vortex first, motioning for the others to follow him through. Thus encouraged, the others dutifully filed in behind him – some curiously, some warily. They had no idea what was on the other side of this spacebridge tunnel. But Optimus had contacted each of them for a reason. He had gathered seven seeming strangers together for some higher purpose that revolved around these galactic coordinates.

And they weren't about to ignore his strange summons. No one ignored a Prime, living or dead.

* * *

In the vintage salvage yard outside Crown City, a high, excited voice called out over Bumblebee's comm. link:

[Lieutenant! The Alchemor's on-board scanners have picked up energy readings from the nearby lorry – story – _quarry_!] Fix-It announced eagerly, his vocalizer glitching from his excitement. [Preliminary analysis reveals the tell-tale vortex of a spacebridge!]

Bumblebee pounced on the information in a sparkbeat. "You sure, Fix-It?" he demanded eagerly.

[Positive, sir! I am also detecting eight unknown life signals near it. I can't identify them myself, but the Alchemor is quite certain they are not Decepticons. Well, that is, they're not on the prisoner database. They _could_ be. You might find it interesting to note that two of the life signals appear to be...ah...synchronized.]

He nodded almost absent-mindedly at the information. That meant two of the newcomers formed a bonded pair. It didn't exactly narrow down who they were, but it showed these two trusted each other implicitly. That kind of trust took a long time to form, and trust was something 'Cons didn't do. Besides, he honestly couldn't name a 'Con who had ever had a bond-mate.

"Fix-It, keep an optic on those signals. Sideswipe, Grimlock, Strongarm and I will check it out."

[Shall I inform Denny and Russell to remain here until further notice?]

"It would probably be best. We don't know who these guys are just yet, so we don't know if they're dangerous or not. I get the feeling these guys _might_ be friendlies but I'd rather not rely on hunches when it comes to a bunch of strangers. Always better to be careful about things like this. They could be Council cronies even, and being dragged back to Cybertron in chains is _not_ going to help anyone."

[Understood. I will inform them to remain here until you give the all-clear.]

Nodding, Bumblebee cut the link and opened three more to his other team members.

"Guys, drop what you're doing and meet me at the gates. We got something we need to investigate at the quarry. It's urgent."

[On our way, lieutenant.] Strongarm replied.

' _Is this the help you promised you would send?_ ' he thought privately, looking skyward.


	3. Chapter 3: Arrival

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

Bumblebee waited as patiently as he could while the three combat-trained members of his team joined him at the gates. He paced excitedly in front of the gate, unable to stay still. Fix-It updated him that the signals hadn't moved at all since their arrival. He gazed out in the direction of the quarry in the vain hope of spotting something that might tell him who these newcomers were. And unless his optics were playing tricks on him he could have sworn he saw a bright flash of gold light come from the general area of the quarry. It wasn't a flare – the flash was too broad and too low to the ground. Not an explosive either. If it had been, there would be sound connected to it and a he might have seen spreading flames go along with it. Blaster fire was out of the question, too – that flash was far too bright. What on Earth had that been?

Strongarm came alone while Sideswipe came in happily riding on the back of Grimlock's dinosaur mode. All them looked more than little curious as to what had gotten the black and yellow mech so fidgety and impatient. This wasn't like his anxious pacing when he was worried about something – this was excited pacing.

"You called us, lieutenant?" Strongarm asked. "Did Fix-It find another stasis pod we need to secure?"

Bumblebee shook his head. "No, nothing like that. This is a simple rendezvous at the quarry. Fix-It detected eight unknown life signals that came out of a spacebridge near there. We need to investigate whether or not these are friendlies who could help us round up all these escaped Decepticons or more 'Cons we need to capture. If they're Council cronies...we might have some explaining to do."

"Eight?" Sideswipe demanded, jumping off Grimlock's back. "Geez. Did Jazz call in the slagging army for us?" he joked dryly.

The black and yellow mech didn't respond to his question, deciding not to tell them that Optimus himself may have sent them here in answer to his request. He wanted to be absolutely certain these guys were helpful before telling his team. Instead he simply repeated that they needed to investigate before the signals scattered and became harder to track. They weren't on the Alchemor's database so if they went out of range they'd practically disappear. Surprisingly, Sideswipe seemed satisfied with this answer and didn't pester him about avoiding answering his question. He transformed with a flourish and revved his engine eagerly. When no one followed his example he said impatiently:

"Well? What are we standing around here waiting for then? Come on! Let's go find these guys before they get themselves lost in the woods or bump into Steeljaw or one of his buddies!"

Three vehicle engines roared to life and three colorful vehicle peeled out of their hidden base with a black and green burly Dinobot following right on their tails. Within minutes they had vanished into the forests outside the salvage yard, headed towards the quarry located a few miles away.

From near the salvage yard's closing gates, a young human boy with dark brown hair and wearing a pale blue sweatshirt and jeans watched the Cybertronians disappear. At his side was a much taller, middle-aged man with the same dark brown hair and wearing an orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans. Russell and his father Denny were under strict orders from both Fix-It and Bumblebee to remain here until Bumblebee's team either returned from their scouting or gave the all-clear from their location. For now all they could do was wait for his return and his report.

* * *

Fix-It diligently monitored their progress from the command center, keeping close watch on the eight strange signals as per ordered. They had dispersed out of their previously tight grouping into a looser conglomeration as though the owners were investigating their surroundings, but were keeping close to one another for safety reasons. There was slight movement from the individuals in the group, but they kept in reach of each other. Decepticons didn't typically behave this way. Protective huddles weren't a strategy employed by 'Cons. Most often he'd seen that with Predacons...and Autobots. Were these in fact more allies sent here to assist them? But if so – who, then, had sent them? Very few knew about the crash, and Jazz was under orders to keep this whole mess quiet from the Council.

Still the mini-con waited for Bumblebee's report, waited and watched as the team's signals neared the foreign ones. He could only hope these were Autobots – because if not, then Bumblebee's team was outnumbered four to eight. That wasn't a fight they could win.

* * *

In a clearing just outside the quarry stood seven Cybertronians. Circling around them was an icy blue mechanical wolf, audials pricked straight up and snout raised to catch scents brought to him on the wind so he could learn more about this strange world.

"Earth?" Smokescreen breathed. His helm tilted to the side. "Okay. This just interesting."

Zodiac sat perched on Charity's shoulder plates, helm tilting this way and that as she absorbed all of the strange sights, sounds and smells that assaulted her senses in an unending, fascinating wave of data. This world's atmosphere was mostly oxygen and nitrogen and carbon dioxide with traces of other elements. Around the clearing were strange green and brown objects taller than a mech.

' _Trees._ ' she heard him clarify over the bond. ' _They're not dangerous. You might find 'em as nice perches._ '

With an intrigued keen she flew over to one of thick protrusions sticking out of one of these trees. Its surface was rough and provided good grip for her sharp talons. A light chirp at her side made her whip around to find a very small, colorful organic creature that somewhat resembled her but not as predatory in appearance. It chirped again, grey and yellow feathers puffing out. Zodiac clicked her beak at it in greeting, bobbing her head.

She felt a pulse of amusement: ' _That's a songbird, 'Zee. Dunno what type but it's harmless. I think you're near its nest or something and it's trying to scare you off to protect its chicks from you._ _Just back off and it'll stop bothering you._ '

' _Oooh. It's guarding its young. Oops. My bad._ '

She respectfully backed away from the territorial avian, bowing her helm to convince the little critter it wasn't a threat to its developing offspring. Strangely enough the songbird seemed to understand now that her intentions weren't hostile, bobbing its own head in reply and unpuffing its feathers. The little Avioid flitted over to different branch on a different tree farther away, but stayed close enough so that she could continue observing the strange creature without setting off its territorial instincts again. It was fascinating – so colorful, so bold of character, yet so small and fragile. And the little noises it made were rather pretty to listen to.

Frostbite eventually stopped circling the Cybertronians and emitted a low, growling whine. His audials pinned back a little.

Backdraft assumed a combat stance and activated his arm-mounted flamethrowers upon comprehending his sudden shift in behavior. "What is it, buddy? Trouble?"

Frostbite gave another growling whine that soon evolved into an outright hostile snarl, fangs bared and beginning to drop with liquid nitrogen, audials pinned completely back against his head. His razor sharp claws folded out and dug into the gravelly soil beneath him. His heckles rose aggressively. Sentenza and Counterforce both whipped out their respective energy weapons – one a scimitar of golden energy, the other a scythe of blood red energy. Counterforce nodded to her and she promptly cloaked herself from sight, taking up a position on the far eastern edge of the clearing. Windstorm cocked and aimed his own arm-mounted wind cannons, aiming them into the forest where Frostbite's hostility appeared to be directed. He couldn't hear or see anything himself, but it was a well-known fact that the sensory systems of Predacons were far superior to that of a regular Cybertronian. He could be hearing something kliks away.

"Everybody just calm down," Charity urged. "Why don't we just _ask_ what's gotten Frostbite on edge instead of automatically drawing weapons like a bunch of trigger happy maniacs? He may have just picked up a scent he didn't recognize – human maybe, perhaps hikers or hunters. Or he might even just be smelling wildlife like deer or smaller mammals."

Smokescreen looked at her curiously, "How do you know so much about humans?"

Charity shrugged her slender shoulders: "One has to have a hobby outside of one's work. Human culture is fascinating, especially concerning the natural world. They legally protect sections of their planet via state and national parks and reserves in order to preserve it. That's very admirable. Personally I've always wanted to visit Yellowstone National Park..." she admitted rather shyly.

The Elite Guardsmech nodded, grinning. So Charity was a bit of a nature buff. He never would've guessed that sort of an interest from an Iaconian clinic medic who had never been off Cybertron in her life. Maybe that was why Optimus had singled her out – useful medically, and she was fascinated by Earth's ecosystems. She'd fit right in here.

"Well Frostbite? What is it?" Backdraft pressed.

Frostbite sniffed deeply, drawing in large amounts of air into olfactory sensors. [Dunno. All I smell is one approaching target. Doesn't smell friendly. Just stay on your guard. It's getting closer.]

Up on her perch, Zodiac let out a keen of alarm when she spotted something dart through the undergrowth. In response the large something turned about and headed for the eastern edge of the clearing where it believed it could accomplish a successful ambush or observe them undetected, unknowingly headed directly for the hidden Seeker. There was a choked howl of alarm as the Seeker femme struck out into the undergrowth with her concealed energy scythe, barring it around the something's neck and dragging it, struggling, into the clearing for all to see. It was a Cybertronian, a blue-grey Lupioid mech, and located on his shoulder armor was a violet Decepticon crest, slashed through by his own clawed hands. To her, that meant nothing. He still had it. Snarling, she roughly tossed him onto the ground and pinned him, keeping herself cloaked and her scythe's blade barred across his neck cables. It was taking all of her willpower to resist the urge to simply slit his neck open and let him choke on his own Energon. The Fallen knew he deserved nothing less.

"Frostbite, incapacitate him," Sentenza hissed sharply, her voice suddenly autocratic and harsh. She moved her scythe a little closer as a warning, making Steeljaw's air intakes hitch nervously.

The wolf-former seemed more than happy to oblige her demand. He slunk forward to the pinned Decepticon, baring his saber fangs. He approached his legs and then dug his liquid nitrogen-filled fangs deep into Steeljaw's leg, making him give a stifled cry of pain. Satisfied that he wouldn't be running off, Sentenza removed her pede and retracted her scythe. Steeljaw vainly tried to move as soon as he felt the invisible force on his chest lift away, but found he was paralyzed from the waist down as the cryogenic substance pumped through his fuel lines, motor relays and nerve endings. He couldn't move nor could he run for safety.

"If you're going to terminate me, at least let me see who will be the one to send me to my grave," he snarled weakly.

He heard a dark feminine chuckle as the air began to shimmer. Revealed was a seductively beautiful black and red Seeker femme whose ruby optics burned with barely concealed hatred and rage. She held in her hand a small black metal bar that she attached to her hip. He tensed. She was last femme he wanted to see here. His optics widened. Again he tried to kick his legs into motion but he still found them unresponsive. Fear was beginning to build in his spark. This femme was was a terror to Kaon's criminals, infamous for her twisting of the rules to suit her needs and shameless roughing up of targets. But something in her voice and actions didn't match with the stories he'd heard of her.

"How do you know about the Alchemor, femme?" he demanded with a snarl. "Did that annoying Autobot squadron squeal to you for help somehow?"

Everyone looked at each other confusedly upon hearing this information, surprise and comprehension beginning to dawn on their faceplates. Smokescreen started ever so slightly.

Behind her, the sun was beginning to lower towards the horizon as evening came around, betraying their arrival of late afternoon. Whether by coincidence or design it lowered down right between her wings and behind her raven-like helm. Her shadow slowly slithered forward until it covered Steeljaw's prone form. With the sun being blocked by her frame her frontal colors and shadows became far more enhanced. Her ruby optics burned like the consuming fires of the Pit. She less resembled a Seeker now and more resembled a vengeful spirit released to prowl the living world.

Steeljaw swore creatively. He knew who she was now, knew exactly who this femme was and what she could do to him. In Kaon, she was nothing short of a supernatural legend, feared and revered in equal measure by wrong-doers and law officers alike. His fear became more pronounced.

"The Nightdemon."

Sentenza purred, "Very good. So you know now that running is not your wisest option, because it would leave me separated from these lovely people and well..." she trailed off suggestively, smirking. "Maybe you _should_ run – if only to give me a chance to show you how I earned my name. But no. I'll do you a favor instead. Take a nap, why don't you?"

The Seeker twirled her scythe around, retracting the burning red blade. There was a sharp banging noise as she rammed the blade-less pole of the weapon against Steeljaw's helm, knocking him unconscious in an instant. But the pole stayed rather than be drawn back, and the others watched in horror and shock as the blade shimmered back out of hiding. She held it against Steeljaw's neck, the pole trembling in her hand. There was a frown on her lip-plates and a strange fire in her ruby red optics...wait a klik. Hadn't they been Predacon yellow not even a breem ago?

"Sentenza, that's quite enough." Counterforce said. His voice wasn't harsh, nor was it raised in volume, but it was commanding in its tone.

Her optics underwent a shift, brightening in hue until they reached a pale orange-ish yellow. She held a hand to her helm as though suffering from a painful processor ache, her vice grip on her weapon loosening until it simply fell out of her hand and clattered to the ground. Her wings lowered in abject guilt and shame. Silently she sent out glyphs of apology to him and her new friends through her field, ashamed she had surrendered to the night coding so easily. She hadn't even noticed the shift.

"Excuse me for the coarse language – but what the flying frag just happened?" Backdraft demanded.

Counterforce sighed wearily. He had been hoping to keep this aspect of the detective's personality a secret due to how dangerous it was to ally and enemy alike, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. Clearly keeping her night coding under control on this world would take more conscious effort on her part – something about this planet amplified it.

"I don't suppose any of you know about dissociative personality disorder?" he asked.

He was rather surprised that two hands raised and a talon lifted in confirmation – Charity, Windstorm, and Zodiac. Charity was no surprise due to her medical profession, but Windstorm and Zodiac knowing about it was unexpected. They were scientists, not medics or psychologists.

"I've heard of multiple personality disorder, yes. I've even seen it on rare occasions at my clinic. Not even the brightest psychologists on record fully understand what causes it to surface, though they do note that there have to be internal or external triggers for the other personality to assert dominance." Charity affirmed. "She has it?"

Counterforce nodded grimly, a sympathetic glimmer in his dual-colored optics, "Yes. The trigger for her is low light emissions. Typically she can control it to a certain degree back home, and I admit I've helped with that, but something on this planet seems to be making it harder for her to suppress like she usually does on Cybertron. I...haven't seen her like that in a – well, a long time."

Smokescreen winced. "Ouch. That sucks. It's like she has...werewolf coding or something."

Sentenza grimaced as she forced the coding back into submission a second time. Her wings were as low as they could go and her optics shifted between glittering ruby and the strange orange-ish yellow every few minutes as she struggled to keep the code suppressed. Counterforce laid a hand on her shoulder. Privately he told her that they deserved to know, just as he had deserved to know the night he'd first seen the Nightdemon. She nodded almost imperceptibly, guilt and shame in her optics.

On the ground, Steeljaw remained deathly still, paralyzed the liquid nitrogen. But unconscious as he was, he did not hear the Praxian clarify further to the gathering:

The Nightdemon and Sentenza were not one and the same however. Sentenza was a reputable private detective during working hours, and she hated what the night code turned her into. If she ever allowed the night code and the Nightdemon to overwrite her, she became a dangerous Decepticon huntress. Quite often her chosen 'Con victim was found dead – and in rare cases, badly wounded – with the scene so utterly void of evidence that officers were always forced to close the case. That was why Decepticons and law officers knew her as the Nightdemon, because those deaths appeared almost supernatural due to sheer lack of evidence pointing to a perpetrator. She was infinitely dangerous and exceedingly methodical. Her personality may alter at night, but it didn't make her extensive knowledge of forensics diminish in the slightest.

At their pedes, Steeljaw stirred weakly as he came back around. His optics flickered open only to fall on the black form of Sentenza. He growled mentally out of fear and irritation. That the Nightdemon was here did not bode well for his cause of turning this world into a haven for Decepticons. Frankly he considered himself lucky to be alive after meeting her. There were few who could brag that. But...perhaps she was saving him for later? Why? Why not just kill him now while she had the chance?

"Nightlight, you got stasis cuffs on you?" she asked weakly. "Two pairs?"

Counterforce silently brought out two sets of stasis cuffs from a compartment on his hip. One pair he tossed over to Smokescreen so he could secure Steeljaw. Steeljaw, barely conscious, snarled and tried to avoid the cuffs, but Smokescreen eventually pinned him and slapped the cuffs over his hands. Sentenza stayed perfectly still as the golden and silver mech gently encased her own hands in the second pair of cuffs, laying a hand on her tense shoulder plating with a soft smile. Instantly her tight frame began to relax as she realized she was no longer a danger to those around her.

"Frostbite, Zodiac – scout ahead if you please. See if you can find that Autobot squadron he mentioned." Windstorm requested civilly. "We will remain here and monitor Steeljaw."

In reply, both beast-formers bobbed their helms and darted off into the darkening woods, Frostbite himself flinging his head back and unleashing a chilling howl that echoed out into the distance.

* * *

That howl was heard by Bumblebee's team as they rounded a bend in the mountainous road, the chilling musical sound making him shiver slightly in spite of himself. It also confused the yellow and black mech and his small team to a certain degree, and brought up a good question to ask Denny and Russell.

"Denny, Russell – are wolves native to this region?" he asked over his comm. link.

[They were a long time ago 'Bee, but the crowned wolf population took a nose dive about fifty years ago thanks to that quarry being made and general industrialization of the Crown City area. Survivors were taken to a wildlife preserve before the species went extinct entirely.] Denny informed him.

"Okay, because we just heard a wolf howl and it sounded like it came from the area of the quarry."

[Are you positive you heard a wolf howling?] Russell asked curiously.

"Russell, I was here a long time during my stay on Team Prime, so I think I know what a wolf howl sounds like. I'm not crazy – I swear that's what I heard."

Just as he finished speaking he caught a flash of movement in the undergrowth heading in the opposite direction they were going. It moved so quickly and so gracefully that he had no time to estimate size or shape or anything that might help him identify the source of the movement. Judging by speed alone it couldn't be very large – large bodies tended to move slower than small ones. It had moved so fast he hadn't even been able to pick up an energy signature from it, bio-electrical or otherwise. But he was picking up a second signal from nearby that he was able to get a quick energy read off it and it was coming...from above him?

But he saw nothing.

* * *

In the salvage yard, Denny and Russell distinctly heard a chilling canine howl come from the woods just beyond the gates that led outside. Fix-It was still in the command center relaying information on the signals to 'Bee and his team.

"Huh. Guess 'Bee wasn't imagining it." Denny noted in surprise. "That was definitely a wolf howl."

Russell's sharp ears determined it was definitely in the woods and from the sounds of it – it was getting closer. It was getting ever closer _really_ fast, almost unnaturally fast.

"Sounds really close too." he said, mildly anxious. Wolves tended to hunt in packs, so where there was one wolf there was always more nearby. But he hadn't heard any secondary or replying howls. Was this a loner who had maybe escaped from the preserve in the bordering state?

Denny put an arm around his son: "Don't worry, Rusty. Wolves aren't like cats – they can't jump tall fences. This fella's probably just lost and looking for some food. Maybe you could set out some left over bacon for him – a gesture of good will."

Russell grinned and darted towards the trailer where the fridge was, calling back: "Great idea! Maybe he'll turn into a guard dog for us or something! We could train him to defend the place!"

"Just be careful when setting it out! Come right back in once you put it down! If he's hungry enough he might see you as food, too!"

Russell popped back out of the trailer with a large plate of bacon strips and headed for the gates, having heard his father's warning just before vanishing inside moments earlier. He knew not to stay outside for very long with a wild, hungry animal roaming about beyond the safety of the yard's walls.

"Don't worry, dad! It's not like I'm inviting him in for dinner or anything! It's just a little something to tide him over till he can find a deer or something in the woods later!" he reassured, darting past him with the wolf's late night snack.

Denny watched as Russell disappeared through the retracting gate that led outside. He heard something swoosh overhead, but it was too dark to make out. Moments later a scream echoed from outside coupled with the sound of Russell's plate shattering to pieces and the sound of heavy wing beats.

"RUSTY!"

He heard Fix-It rush over to him in panic, and soon enough the mini-con was at his side trying to determine what was happening. His scanner was picking up two signals – one was right outside and a few feet off the ground. As he watched, the other signal appeared to circle around to the other end of the salvage yard. Both watched as a dark avian form swooped over the yard's gates, hovering silently, its metal body the same color as the night sky above and its eyes a deep, royal blue. Suspended from its beak by his sweatshirt collar was Russell.

"Dad! Help!" he cried.

He yelped when the metal bird flapped its wings in order to land on the ground, but rather than harm him the bird keened softly and gently placed him on solid ground. It lightly pecked at him with its beak softly enough so that it wouldn't break his skin open. It was examining him like a curious, child-like scientist.

"Wait. You're...friendly?" he gasped. "But where's your Autobot crest? Who are you?"

The strange metal bird keened as though in delight and bobbed its head up and down in a bizarre nod. He watched in amazement as hundreds of little white diodes lit up on its port side wing to form the trustworthy symbol that meant friend, displaying the feathered appendage for the three observers to see. Then with another keen and light peck to the boy's head it took wing and perched on the walls, silently observing them. All three observed in awe-struck silence as the diodes on its wings shifted through every Earth constellation that was part of the traditional Greek Zodiac before going dark again. It tilted its head to the side.

"Fix-It, you got a name for this one?" Denny wondered, dazed. Here he'd thought Grimlock was strange. This weird alien bird beat the Dinobot hands down.

"Her." Fix-It clarified. "And she's not registered on the Alchemor's prisoner manifest. I don't think I've ever seen a Predacon like this before. I have no idea who she is."

The bird keened and rolled its royal blue optics, flashing the constellations again in quick succession. It was like she was saying "Oh come on you nitwits! You're not even trying!"

But before any of them could begin brainstorming her name, there was a low growl right behind them followed by a very loud, haunting howl...


	4. Chapter 4: Beasts of Prey

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

That chilling howl was heard all the way out on the mountainous, rocky road that led to the quarry by Sideswipe and Strongarm. They instantly hit on their brakes and skidded to a stop, crying out as they careened into each on accident while trying to spin around one hundred eighty degrees at the same exact time. Such a maneuver obviously didn't go through very well on a thin mountain road.

"Hey! Watch it!" Sideswipe snapped.

"I _was_ watching where _I_ was going, Sideswipe! I doubt you were, though!" Strongarm barked back at him tersely.

Sideswipe snorted disbelievingly, but much to her surprise he abruptly dropped the subject rather than continue to argue with her like he usually did. Considering his stand-off-ish personality this came as a bit of a shock to her, and translated that he sensed something very wrong was going on back at the salvage yard. Where that howling had come from...But Denny had told them that native wolves didn't live around here anymore!

"Just step on it already, Strongarm! 'Bee and Grimlock can investigate those other signals without us! We gotta get back to the base!" he urged. "Russell, Fix-It and Denny might be neck deep in scrap!"

With that he revved his engine and shot down the rocky mountain path back in the direction they had come from. Strongarm debated for a brief moment before finally deciding to follow the red mech just to make sure he didn't do anything stupid like he typically did. That punk needed to learn to think before acting. Jumping in helm first into a situation before analyzing it always ended badly.

* * *

Russell, Denny, and Fix-It dared not move a muscle or gear for a full minute. Instead they stayed perfectly still as they listened to the heavy breathing and faint growling coming from right behind them that sounded all too much like it was coming from a giant dog.

"No. Sudden. Moves." Denny advised in a barely audible whisper. "Turn around. _Very_. Slowly."

Fix-It did so first, very slowly turning around to face the creature behind them that, for whatever inexplicable reason, hadn't decided to devour any one sitting there before it. When he did finally lay optics on the canine creature there appeared to be only one feasibly sensible thing to do in his mind.

Run.

Denny and Russell heard the mini-con give a shriek of terror which was followed by the faint whirring of his wheels as he made a break for the relative safety of his command center. It was equal parts bailing from utter fright and unconscious strategic thinking, but it wasn't exactly a reassuring reaction either way. Then they turned around themselves. What they saw made them sympathize with Fix-It's terrified reaction, because this thing made a wild, rabid wolf look adorable and cuddly.

It was a wolf – a giant mechanical wolf the size of a small minivan, icy blue in coloration. Large saber-tooth tiger type fangs protruded out of its upper jaw. Claws stuck out from its massive paws. But its icy blue optics examined them less like a hungry carnivore and more like a curious puppy, with its helm tilted almost cutely to one side. It let out a soft whine in the direction Fix-It had fled. Its ears pinned back a little ways. It looked...upset, like its feelings had been hurt.

Russell, acting on a hunch, cautiously approached the robotic beast, reaching out with a single hand towards its snout.

"Rusty, be careful." Denny urged anxiously. "We don't know whether or not –"

His eyes widened when Russell gently placed a hand on the robotic wolf's snout. Rather than snap his hand clean off, its tail swished once and it lay down while letting out a sound from deep in its mechanical throat that sounded an awful lot like purring.

"He's friendly, dad." Russell confirmed, smiling. "I think he's with the bird 'Bot."

Suddenly there was a loud roar of an engine coupled with the sounds of transformation and a frantic shout of:

"RUSSELL GET BACK!"

Sideswipe charged in with blade drawn, reading the peaceful situation before him incorrectly. In response the mechanical wolf snarled defensively and bared its fangs, leaping at the aggressor in Russell's defense. To the friendly wolf this strange newcomer was the blatant attacker.

"Sides! Wait! Don't! He's not dangerous!" Russell cried out to little avail.

Sideswipe thought the wolf was aiming for his chest and tried to block accordingly, but his assumption was dangerously off. Rather than leap high, the wolf lunged lower than expected and sank its fangs into his legs. In a flashy of icy blue and white the metal wolf swiped its tail around and knocked him to the ground with graceful effortlessness. A super-chilled, icy substance leaked out of the two puncture wounds and stopped any Energon from flowing out, sealing them as effectively as an arc welder. Sideswipe tried to get up but found that he was unable to move his legs. He was getting warning messages about his nerve endings and motor relays being shut off.

"My legs! I can't move my legs! I can't even _feel_ my legs!" he realized, panic building in his spark.

The wolf snarled, clambering up onto the downed red mech to snap at his face – a warning. Strongarm arrived in a wailing of police sirens just in time to witness this. She drew her weapon and aimed it at the aggressive Predacon.

"No! Don't hurt him! He's a friend!" Russell shouted, rushing forward to try and break up the fight.

This whole thing was a huge misunderstanding and should be easy to clear up before things really got out of hand. He had just to convince Strongarm and Sideswipe that the wolf wasn't an enemy. But considering the situation right now – that would probably be a lot harder than it sounded. Fortunately someone else nearby had the exact same idea and went about it in a rather odd but ludicrously effective way. From the high wall near the gate of the salvage yard came a loud, high-pitched avian keen that made Strongarm wince and drop her weapon in her haste to dampen her audial receptors. Sideswipe in turn clamped his hands over his own audial receptors to block out the noise while the wolf pinned its ears back before backing away from his opponent.

This was followed by the sound of transformation and a tomboyish female voice proclaiming exasperatedly:

"Right, now that I've got ya'll's attention – GET. ALONG. OR. ELSE. WE. ARE. _NOT_. THE ENEMY. HERE. COMPRENDE? WE. ARE. THE GOOD. GUYS."

Revealed standing on the walls in all of her star-studded, constellation-dotted glory was a little femme not much bigger than Fix-It with mechanical bird wings lowered angrily on her back. One tiny digit whipped around to point accusingly at all those involved in the skirmish, royal blue optics narrowed.

She stood up from her slightly hunched over position. "M'kay. We all good here?"

Everyone nodded, dazed and surprised. How could so much noise come from such a tiny little voice box? Russell and Denny's ears were literally ringing like a twin set of telephones.

"Okay. Good. Now, I'm gonna call my friends over so we can get this shemozzle sorted out. This is _not_ an attack. We just wanna talk. We even have a bit of a peace offering for you guys."

Once more, everyone nodded. Strongarm was the first out of the gathered to recover, opening a comm. link to her commanding officer:

"Sir? Those signals? Confirmed friendlies. Two of them are here at the base, and one of them just yelled at us loud enough to nearly blow out our audials. She says she's going to call her friends over to discuss their presence here with you."

[Alright. We'll pull back, cadet.] Bumblebee replied. [And also – wow. Really? Who's the loud mouth?]

"Erm..." Strongarm hesitated as she gathered a physical description to relay to him. "A small, midnight blue femme covered in light-emitting diodes, an Avioid Predacon from the looks of her. It seems like she can consciously control which diodes light up."

[And what about the other one?]

"Another Predacon. Canipid. He's the source of the howling we heard earlier. We had a bit of a misunderstanding with him – well, Sideswipe did anyway – which is what resulted in the Avioid shouting at us at the top of her vocalizer to get along. He's got some kind of paralytic bite ability that he used on Sideswipe to incapacitate him. It disables motor and nerve systems."

[Get him over to Fix-It before he starts whining about it, then. We'll be there soon.]

"Understood, sir."

* * *

Bumblebee and Grimlock arrived back at the scrap yard in the span of about a quarter of an hour. Grimlock looked rather put out that he wouldn't be punching or pounding these newcomers, but he fortunately seemed content to accept that more 'Bots meant more friends.

Unfortunately he hadn't really been forewarned about the two beast-formers now roaming free in the salvage yard, nor had he been warned that the wolf mech was rather aggressively defensive of Russell regardless of whether or not the one approaching was friend or foe. Said mechanical wolf was currently coiled around Russell like a mother wolf around her cub, seemingly in recharge while the boy leaned back on the beast's sides. When Grimlock treaded just a hair too close it woke up, pinned back its audials and growled softly.

"Easy there, buddy. He's with us." Bumblebee said gently.

In response, the mechanical wolf's audials pricked back up and the growling subsided. It gently nuzzled Russell with its snout before beginning to purr like an overgrown cat. Intense protective urges were common for any type of Predacon, and this one was clearly no exception to that. Yet despite this one acting far more like a beast than some other Predacons he had encountered on Cybertron, the scout could sense this was a very civil spark he was seeing. He only attacked if given a _very_ good reason, and would defend his charges from any and all threats even if he barely knew them. From Strongarm's and Sideswipe's (whose paralysis had been corrected) coinciding reports of their encounter with the wolf, he had _only_ attacked when Sideswipe had.

That information told Bumblebee that this Predacon only lashed out if he felt that he was being physically threatened. If Sideswipe hadn't charged in guns blazing then most likely the Predacon would have happily left him alone.

As for the other signal – the diode-studded Avioid – it was one of the synchronized ones Fix-It had detected earlier. Appearance wise she fit the description of someone he knew only through wireless communications with an old friend of his, but her personality was _way_ off – the little Avioid he knew would _never_ have shouted like that at a crowd of strangers. Then again, if _she_ were here then that meant _he_ was here as well.

Speaking of the devil himself...

Roaring in single file behind a vibrant blue and yellow hovercar was a line of various different colorful vehicles – a flamboyant hovercycle, a lean and fast purple hovercar, a dainty tri-shade green vehicle, and a pitch black Seeker femme with red detailing and curved wings following on foot, hands in stasis cuffs. Only the Autobot crest on her starboard wing showed she wasn't an enemy.

One by one they all transformed, the scout's gaze remaining fixated on the streamlined blue and yellow mech in the lead with the insignia of the Elite Guard on his upper arm. In turn, the other mech's optics locked onto him in undisguised shock and delight.

"' _Bee?!"_ He exclaimed.

Bumblebee knew what was coming but found he couldn't move to avoid it. The other mech rushed him like an overgrown child and nearly crushed his doorwings in a friendly embrace, all the while grinning like the universe's biggest idiot. His field was alight with glyphs for joy and reunion and friendship.

"Let. Go. Can't. Feel." Bumblebee managed to gasp out, squirming to free himself to little effect.

This finally convinced the other mech to drop him before he unwittingly caused any harm, his idiotic grin still permanently plastered on his faceplates. Seeing him here was all the real proof he needed that his prayer for help had been heard and answered.

"What the heck are you doing here, Smokescreen?" he demanded.

Smokescreen's grin only grew. He pointed upwards with a single digit, saying: "Mutual friend told me and 'Zee that a pal of ours needed an assist with something. Hacked into her ship's comm. relay and sent us a message that way. It _totally_ creeped us both out by the way, but it's not like we were just gonna ignore it."

Bumblebee actually grinned back, imagining their reactions to a paranormal message popping up on the _Bolt's_ monitors. It was a miracle Zodiac herself hadn't dismissed it as a weird prank call or run screaming out of the bridge.

Smokescreen then gestured behind him: "Said mutual friend also apparently decided we weren't enough (uh-huh, thanks for the vote of confidence – not!) and snagged these guys along for the ride, too. You've already met Frostbite and Zodiac, so meet Sentenza, Windstorm, Charity, Backdraft, and –"

Like a showman displaying his best performer he gestured with his hands towards the opening gates. Rolling in like a metallic star was a brilliant golden and silver hovercar that was dragging a blue vehicle behind it. In a seamless movement it transformed whilst detaching its cargo from its towline. Much to everyone's surprise and hilarity the normally characteristically calm scout let out a high-pitched noise of sheer delight from his vocalizer, bouncing on his pedes like an eager child and wildly pointing at the glittering golden and silver mech.

"NO WAY! OH MY GOSH! T-THAT'S – NO WAY! THAT'S COUNTERFORCE!"

"Wow. And I thought I had the worst case of fanboy syndrome ever documented in the history of ever." Smokescreen joked.

Grimlock literally had to hold him in place to stop him from bouncing or otherwise completely freaking out. It was like he had suddenly devolved back into his spastic sparkling mentality. It was kind of adorable but also completely unexpected to both parties gathered, if not perhaps slightly worrying and downright laughable. The golden and silver mech took a step back, dual-colored optics wide behind his pale gold visor. He blinked once or twice in shock at the reaction. Then the visor retracted upwards with a faint click to reveal his bizarre, heterochromatic optics to the gathered observers. One shone gold, the other silver.

"I'm going to go out on a very long limb here and say you know me, lieutenant?" Counterforce hazarded.

Strongarm finally recognized the vehicle that the celebrated and famously modest Praxian homicide investigator had brought them. She had seen that vehicle one too many times already. Seeing it unmoving and apparently stuck in vehicle mode was relieving to the nth degree. That Decepticon was probably the most dangerous of them all.

"Is that...? You captured _Steeljaw_ for us?" she gasped.

Counterforce rubbed his neck cables rather shyly as he explained that Steeljaw's capture had honestly been more Sentenza's and Frostbite's doing than his. Windstorm had been the one to lock him in vehicle mode and put him in stasis so they could safely transport him here. Zodiac had been the one to spot him in the first place. All he had done was keep the detective from, erm, terminating him.

Sentenza flinched and lowered her head, silently vanishing into the darkened salvage yard to wait out the night. She didn't want these good, innocent sparks to see her like this nor did she want to expose them to the darkness of the night code. Until this world's sun rose she was a danger to them all. Best she stay away from them.

Unseen by her, a single flashy red mech parted from the group and followed her.

* * *

Sideswipe kept a good distance behind the cuffed femme as she wandered around the salvage yard seemingly searching for something. He was curious as to why she had cuffs on yet bore an Autobot crest on her starboard wing. Was she a recent faction switcher, like Grimlock?

To say he was intrigued even further by her appearance would be an understatement. He was fascinated by her. She had the lithe, graceful appearance of a half-tamed panther with the helm characteristics of a crow or maybe a raven. Her curved wings, which were at the moment lowered, acted to frame her body, and the red detailing enhanced her inky black coloration. The red accents even glowed faintly, giving her an almost supernatural appearance. Every inch of her was designed to attract, while at the same time her burning Predacon yellow optics warned others not to get too close.

He turned a corner and nearly jumped to find her standing there, a cross expression on her faceplates.

"Stop following me, kid. Go back to your buddies. It's for you own safety." she advised curtly.

"You're a 'Bot. Why would I not be safe around you?" he wondered warily. "Does it have something to do with those cuffs?"

She sighed: "Yes. It does. So for your own sake leave me alone until morning. I won't be any trouble to your friends. I'm just looking for a place to wait out the night where no one will bother me."

Sideswipe scuffed a pede on the ground, unsure of whether or not to render aid. If he did it wrong she might get mad at him, and he really wanted her to like him. Not many femmes bothered with him, considering him more of a nuisance than a charmer.

"Um, not to sound overly friendly or anything, but I might be able to point out some good spots – i-if you want me to, that is." he stammered.

To his surprise she bowed her helm in acceptance of the offer. Her field was cautiously friendly but subdued, almost unnaturally subdued. It was like she was forcing herself into a state of emotional inactivity for some reason. Her field was pulled so taught against her frame that it seemed like it was welded there or something. Why would she do that? Even the most introverted 'Bot in existence wouldn't pull their field that close against their body or keep it that taught.

He took her to the far end of the salvage yard where there they could vault the fence to the outside near the woods. Sticking out of the ground was a collection of wrecked pieces of the Alchemor that formed a nice little nook big enough to fit the Seeker femme.

"This will do. Thank you." she said quietly.

Sideswipe bade a hasty retreat upon sensing his presence was no longer required here. There was something about this femme that warned anyone – even friends – to be wary of her and to keep a safe distance during the night, and even _he_ was perceptive enough to pick up on it. If she wanted to be left alone then he would abide by that request.

This femme was dangerous for some reason that Counterforce seemed to know yet no one else was aware of. And he didn't want to stick around to find out why. He could get answers in a safer way by asking.

* * *

Bumblebee was pleased to see that the newcomers were quick to make friends with Denny and Russell and his own team mates. Sideswipe had returned from wherever he'd disappeared to, and Fix-It had finally crept back out of his command center out of curiosity and was asking each of them various questions – namely what each brought to the table in terms of skill. They _were_ dealing with hundreds of escaped Decepticon prisoners, after all!

His answers came as follows:

Charity was a medic by profession. Counterforce could manipulate light. Windstorm was a literal genius, by career a star-ship engineer, armed with powerful wind cannons ("hurricanes" as he called them) and a talent for making things. The currently absent Sentenza was a natural cloaker. Backdraft was a stunt biker armed with flamethrowers. Frostbite had a liquid nitrogen bite and was an expert tracker. Zodiac was a skilled astronomer and interstellar navigator.

Sideswipe decided to bring up something that seemed blatantly obvious as "not really useful" to him: "Yeah, uh, no offense – I really don't see what's so handy about having an astronomer-navigator-whatever-she-is. We know where we are in space and where we are on this planet. What's the point?"

Zodiac frowned angrily at having her astronomical abilities dismissed as "useless". They weren't useless, far from it! Her talents were renowned all across Cybertron, and for good reason! _Disputes_ literally broke out over whose ship got to have her for an expedition – some got bad enough that officers would have to break them up!

"Fine! You want useful? I'll show you useful, ingrate!" she snarled.

In a flash she drew out a tiny energy sword and shield set. There was a strange sound like a tiny clap of thunder and then she was just gone. Fix-It's scanner had barely noticed the signal shooting up into the air almost too fast for it to register.

Grimlock looked around confusedly. "What the...? Where'd she go, 'Bee?"

 _WHAM!_

Sideswipe was suddenly hammered from above by a force that moved too fast for the optic or eye to catch. He staggered from the blow, his optics flicking around wildly as he tried to find her. Then he was struck again by the same force, this time from the right side, then again from the left side. Again and again he was struck by the invisible assailant until there was finally a short lull in the blows.

"What the scrap?! Where is she?!" he demanded.

 _WHAM!_

He was knocked back and onto the ground by one last finishing upper-cut from his attacker, dazed and disoriented from the onslaught. There was a faint rush of air and then the femme reappeared on his chest plates, holding her sword to his neck cables with a triumphant, smug look in her royal blue optics.

"Whoa..." Grimlock and Russell breathed in unison.

"Holy moley..." Denny managed.

" _Useful_ enough for ya buddy?" she snarled.

Sideswipe stared at her in undisguised shock and awe. He completely forgot about his humiliating defeat by a tiny Avioid femme and the tiny energy blade aimed at his exposed neck cables. He forgot about his aching frame and the numerous dents dotting it where the femme had struck him. In his mind, nothing was more awe-inspiring than her speed. That little clap of "thunder" he had heard had been her breaking the sound barrier! This tiny little femme – she was faster than anything he'd ever seen, anything he'd ever dreamed of!

"Why didn't you tell me she was a speed gifted?" Bumblebee demanded of his friend, just as shocked as everyone else.

Speed gifted Cybertronians were incredibly rare, incredibly useful, and incredibly dangerous. They comprised only about two percent of the entire population and most tended to remain neutral to avoid either faction from exploiting their boundless capabilities. To find one who was openly an Autobot was rare – literally a one in nine billion chance.

"I thought you'd inferred that? But it's because she typically doesn't like flaunting it." Smokescreen answered back. "Because she doesn't like people fawning attention on her? Because she doesn't want her abilities to be abused, even by fellow 'Bots? Because she sees fighting as pointless and something that can be avoided? Because she has the worst case of social anxiety documented by science?"

"With all due respect, why in the name of Cybertron would _we_ abuse her powers, sir? We're not 'Cons!" Strongarm protested.

Zodiac leapt off her opponent's chest and darted behind Smokescreen's legs. All the attention suddenly fastened on her made her anxiety come roaring back with a vengeance.

"'Bots, 'Cons – she doesn't care. Everyone has the capacity to see her as more of a tool than as an actual thinking person. She doesn't want to be used to further someone's political or social agenda. She just wants to be left alone with her work – treated normally. She's a scientist, not a trained fighter. She would rather settle a dispute with words instead of guns and fists – and trust me, she's done that a few times. The only reason she even knows _how_ to fight is because _I_ taught her. Self defense in case anyone gave her trouble." Smokescreen finished rather grimly.

Bumblebee gazed at the hiding Avioid with new-found respect and sympathy. This little femme viewed the whole of existence as "out to exploit her" and understandably trusted very few people in consequence. She was hyper-intelligent and gifted with enhanced speed – a deadly combination – but she didn't hold with fighting to solve problems. Then again, Smokescreen's story to him ten years ago, when he'd described his first ever encounter with her now made sense. She was skittish, faster then lightning, and very, very afraid of people she didn't know personally. And judging by her reaction to Sideswipe, she tended to take offense easy, too.

He knelt down to address her gently: "Hey, no one is gonna use you as a tool here, okay? We're not gonna force you to fight. _I'm_ not gonna force you to fight."

"Promise?" she demanded warily, her royal blue optics highly skeptical.

He held out a hand, smiling: "Promise. Here. I'll even shake on it."

One tiny hand came out and he gingerly shook it to seal the deal.


	5. Chapter 5: Lullaby for a Demon

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

With her compact made with Bumblebee regarding her abilities, Zodiac was very quick to relax. However, she still didn't seem very friendly towards the so-called "ingrate" known as Sideswipe. Before zipping off to explore the regions outside the salvage yard and research this alien world's night sky she was quick to peck at his helm crest in a miffed manner, resulting in Sideswipe giving a pained, annoyed yelp.

Much to her obvious pleasure, she saw Strongarm smirk at this in a strangely approving manner. As such, Zodiac developed an instant liking of the Elite Guard cadet. They saw optic to optic about him.

Frostbite finally decided to release Russell from his protective custody and ambled off to begin self-imposed nightly rounds of the yard, but not before inaudibly requesting a nice scratch under his chin from the friendly human – who was more than happy to oblige him. He vanished into the depths of the salvage yard immediately afterwards, silent as a white wraith. To everyone's surprise, Grimlock decided to follow him. Considering they were both technically beast-formers it was assumed he perhaps wanted to learn more about the protective Predacon.

Bumblebee personally believed that maybe Frostbite could teach him a few things about moving more gracefully in beast form. He suspected that form darting through the woods earlier had been the beast-former himself, and Counterforce, when asked, confirmed that readily enough – both Zodiac and Frostbite had been sent ahead to scout the terrain and search for the Autobot squadron Steeljaw had mentioned was stationed here. And judging by them all being here and talking, they'd obviously been successful.

"Thanks again for catching him for us, Counterforce." he said.

Counterforce merely smiled and brushed aside his thanks, reminding him he had done essentially nothing aside from drag Steeljaw here. Bumblebee had to admit that his modesty shone as bright as any star. It was like Optimus – or more accurately, Orion – had been rebuilt as a friendly cop. But unless the former scout was seeing things, he could've sworn his one golden optic flashed a shade brighter for a split fraction of a second. Uncertain of what to make of this seeming brief optical delusion, Bumblebee dismissed it as a mere trick of the light.

Counterforce himself started slightly on feeling a tiny hand tap inquisitively on his winged heel strut. He looked down to see the human Frostbite had become so protective of – Russell – looking up at him curiously, head tilted to one side just a bit. He blinked in confusion.

"Yes, Russell?" he asked politely, smiling warmly.

"Why are your eyes two different colors?" Russell wondered rather tactlessly.

Denny was on the verge of lightly scolding him about his tactlessness but was completely taken aback when the golden and silver mech emitted a hugely entertained, gentle chuckle that seemed to warm the crisp night air like a cozy campfire. Apparently Counterforce wasn't insulted at the question at all. Rather, he seemed more amused about it than upset.

Counterforce knelt down to address the young boy face to face:

"Honestly? I think it's my builder's version of a long running practical joke. I'm pretty sure his reasoning for them was 'Hey! I know! Let's give the future famous murder investigator different colored, mismatched optics and see how many giggle-snorts I can get out of the deal!' I _swear_ those were his _exact_ thoughts."

Russell snickered before bursting into laughter. Already he liked this guy. He was intelligent, modest, his ability involved controlling sunlight to use as a weapon (which was totally awesome), and had a great sense of humor to boot. And he was just so nice and friendly and gentle around anyone – he had this brotherly air about him. It was a little strange that someone this nice helped solve gruesome murders on his homeworld, but it wasn't at all hard to understand why Bumblebee was such a fan of the guy. He was a fellow cop, but a famous cop who was also _really_ friendly and laid-back around others. He acted less like a police officer and frankly more like an older brother to anyone he met and befriended.

Sideswipe raised a hand as though in a classroom: "Yeah, quick question for you, Goldie. What's the deal with Ms. Creepazoid? Why's she cuffed?"

Charity politely excused herself to check on the detective, ducking into the depths of the salvage yard in order to search for the Seeker femme. Sentenza may not want company for fear of harming them, but the least she could do was offer some musical comfort to her with the aid of her photoharp – from a safe distance. At the same time, Counterforce's friendly attitude suddenly turned grim and rather foreboding. His expression morphed into one of deadly seriousness, but his field was laced with glyphs for sympathy and pity.

"I would go into all the technical and psychological details, but most likely my words would go sailing right over your helm. I'll put it simply for you, Sideswipe: Sentenza is the feared _Tcsovan niv a'anoth_."

"Uh...gesundheit?" Denny said, not knowing at all what the alien words meant in English. However, one of the word's he had said, "Niv" sounded an awful lot like the word "Night". Beyond that though he could infer nothing as to what the other words translated to.

Grimlock's reaction offered a little more insight as to what it meant. He gave a nervous yelping whimper and hid behind Strongarm in the manner a frightened child would hide behind an adult. His wide blue optics nervously scanned his surroundings.

"Don't let her get me..." he pleaded cutely.

Bumblebee did nothing aside from letting his jaw drop in undisguised, awe-struck, reverential terror and shock, his doorwings angling up sharply and going stiff. Sideswipe mimicked his reaction, but he seemed far more awe-struck than reverentially frightened. The fact that Bumblebee of all 'Bots was frightened of this strange, cuffed, currently absent femme Seeker did not bode well to Denny. Something was seriously off with her if she could get the normally level-headed Autobot officer spooked like this. But for all that, she certainly hadn't acted aggressive in any way. All she had done was slink off into his property like she was trying to hide from everyone, wings at their lowest. She'd looked...ashamed, not murderous.

"No. Freaking. WAY. Are you serious? Are you serious right now? Optimus sent the _Nightdemon of Kaon_ to help us?!" Sideswipe exclaimed, blue optics alight with shocked glee.

Strongarm frowned in disapproval at his reaction. Sentenza was a highly respected private detective whose knowledge of the criminal underworld was unrivaled. Strongarm herself respected the Seeker for that. She had even seen her once or twice flying through the skies above Iacon. Her name was known all across Cybertron and for good reason – she was exceptionally talented and skilled in her field of work. Strongarm respected her for that. But she did not hold with or respect vigilantes, especially ones that killed. If Sentenza were truly an Autobot at spark then she should know that taking a life – even that of a criminal – was never the right thing to do. Laws existed for a reason, and just because she was a privately employed detective didn't make her exempt from them.

Windstorm caught her disapproving frown and hasted to defend the Seeker's good name. He explained that she didn't really have a choice when it came to being the Nightdemon. Such behavior, thoughts, and actions were the result of sleeper coding manifesting that she could normally keep under control, but even the strongest of wills eventually weakened and snapped under the right conditions.

"So...she's got, like, a second personality? And it's evil?" Russell asked. He shivered. "Freaky."

"In layman's terms, yes." Windstorm said stiffly. "And I hesitate to call the Nightdemon truly evil, because she's not, not really – she's merely Sentenza's 'dark side.' However I am quite curious as to what exactly is making her sleeper coding so much harder to control here. On Cybertron only exceptionally dark nights where control was much harder would result in Nightdemon attacks and, erm, killings – at least according to Counterforce's thoughtfully provided data. So what is here that makes it so much harder for her to repress...?"

With that the inventor wandered off, Fix-It offering his aid before following after him like an excited puppy. Neither mech saw the black and yellow scout imperceptibly jolt. Those still present did notice, but elected not to ask about it. Something had plainly spooked him – something unnerving.

"Okay, 'Bee – you mind telling me what mess you got yourself into this time that involves a crashed prison ship and a horde of 'Cons running loose?" Smokescreen demanded jokingly.

Bumblebee winced but smiled faintly. "Yeah…That's kind of a long story..."

* * *

Explanations took a while. Russell eventually got bored with the long, tedious debriefing and went in search of Frostbite and Grimlock while his father snoozed on a couch near the gathering of aliens. Unlike his father, Russell's brain was just too hyped up to calm down. With all these new 'Bots running around it was hard to relax. That and he kind of wanted to find where Frostbite and Grimlock had wandered off to – just to make sure they didn't get into trouble. Grimlock had a bad habit of getting himself in trouble, and Frostbite simply intrigued him by his behavior alone. He was a beast, but also strangely courteous – a civil beast.

As he searched for the two beast-formers he picked up faint, ethereal, beautiful notes wafting from somewhere nearby like the most stirring of single symphonies. It flowed and ebbed like the gentlest of tides, echoing around like audible moonlight. Deciding that the soothing melody had to be coming from someone, he went in search of the source.

He nearly yelped when he bumped face-first into Windstorm's right pede.

"Ah! So you are searching for the source of the mystery notes as well, eh?" Windstorm smiled, looking down at him curiously, offering a hand and a ride on his shoulder.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the debriefing? Or with Fix-It?" Russell wondered.

"Fix-It was very quick to update me as to the situation here. He showed me the prisoner manifest and the few Decepticons your allies have managed to capture, as well as the stasis pods in need of repair. Unfortunately there is no working pod for Steeljaw. We could try to put him in one of the faulty ones, but that is incredibly risky. Not only is there a risk of him escaping from it, but a faulty stasis pod has the capacity to kill. I'm sure you've noticed that Autobots as a general rule refuse to kill."

"Sometimes you gotta take a risk." Russell shrugged. "No risk, no reward. Besides, 'Cons getting out of their pods by accident is kinda becoming a thing. Better have one get away and then fix a pod than put the 'Con in a faulty one."

Windstorm eyed him. "Hmm. I suppose there is something in what you say."

Suddenly there was a commotion that could be plainly heard, temporarily drowning out the lovely ethereal notes they were both hearing, replacing them with a harsh cacophony.

[Windstorm, are you _positive_ you locked Steeljaw in vehicle mode and put him in stasis?] a rather annoyed sounding Bumblebee demanded. [Because he just transformed and ran off. _Again_.]

Windstorm jolted, optics wide in bewilderment and confusion. "I-I thought I did! I'm positive I did! His T-Cog registered on my scanners as locked, and he was in stasis I swear! He wasn't moving or talking or anything! Of course, he could have somehow fooled me and my scanner into registering as locked and in stasis, but that would take a genius!"

[Steeljaw's smarter than you think, Windstorm. It's not your fault. He can fool anyone, even me and even a genius like you. We'll get him when he sticks his neck out again. Don't worry about it.] Strongarm reassured him.

"Was anyone harmed? Were any of the captured prisoners freed? Were their pods damaged by him in any way?" he demanded worriedly.

[No, no, and no. Backdraft was a little too close and got swiped at, but he's fine – he managed to scald the 'Con in the process with his flamethrowers. Steeljaw just seemed happy to book it out of here as fast as he possibly could. Honestly, I don't really blame the guy. _I'd_ run as far away from here as possible if I were a 'Con – what with _her_ being here and all...]

Windstorm appeared to mentally slap himself for being such a short-sighted moronic fool about a wanted Decepticon criminal, but he quickly shook off his negative emotions in an effort to keep his mind clear. Strongarm was right – they would catch him again eventually, and by then they would have a working pod to put him in. With a shake of his helm he went back to searching for the source of the lovely notes. Where were they coming from and who was making them? All Windstorm could tell for certain was that the notes were obviously coming from a Cybertronian photoharp, and the player was clearly a professional with it. But no one here was a musician, at least so far as he knew.

They followed the notes until the found the source, and it was a mind-boggling shock to them both.

Charity sat perched on the walls of the south end of the scrapyard, plucking smoothly at a hand-held harp-like object with pale green energy strings and a frame of silver metal. Her jade optics were closed gently and her dainty body swayed as if in an invisible breeze. Faint humming could be heard coming from her vocalizer. One optic opened to look at them before shutting again, a faint smile forming at her tiny audience. Her voice rose in volume ever so slightly to harmonize with the photoharp's notes. Her digits ghosted over the strings. Taken together it was a hauntingly beautiful combination.

Russell contacted the others after Windstorm gently set him down, whispering: "Guys? You're gonna want to come and see this. Charity has a talent she didn't to tell us about earlier. It's kind of _awesome_ , but be _very_ quiet so you don't interrupt her."

[Um...Okay?] Sideswipe and Grimlock replied, followed by everyone else with similarly intrigued responses. They all sounded a bit ticked that Steeljaw had gotten away, but Russell correctly assumed they would forget all about that when they heard the instrument's and Charity's angelic notes.

In a group the other aliens arrived on the scene only to stop cold at what they were seeing and hearing. For a moment they stood there in silence.

"She's _really_ good!" Backdraft breathed quietly, shuttering his optics to drink in the sounds. He even started humming along himself, adding his notes to the medic's.

"I think...I think she's trying to help Sentenza." Sideswipe realized.

Sentenza's little hidey hole was practically right outside the walls, and as such within audible range of the medic's music. He was no healer or psychologist himself, but even he was aware of his own tension ebbing away with each note, relaxing him. A sideways glance showed he wasn't the only one feeling the effects. How did Charity know she was out there, though? He hadn't told her.

Fix-It looked up at him oddly: "What makes you say that?"

Unwilling to give away Sentenza's privacy, he said: "Call it a hunch."

"Then let's give her some space and privacy and not crowd around her. If that's what she's trying to do – keep Sentenza calm, in control of herself – it's probably best we _don't_ interrupt her in her task, especially now that Steeljaw's on the loose again. I'd rather _not_ have a Nightdemon death on my head." Bumblebee whispered to the others.

Right away he set about gently shooing them away from the femme medic. However, not even the scout's shooing could convince Russell to leave. After they left, Russell dragged a lawn chair from nearby and positioned it at the base of the wall a few feet away from Charity. The medic didn't seem to mind his presence at all. She merely smiled faintly and continued strumming on the alien instrument, lulling the boy to sleep within minutes. He thus never heard a second faint voice join with hers, its deeper tones harmonizing perfectly with her lighter ones. She heard this soft voice, but could not see the source. However, she had an acute feeling of someone being nearby – someone who wanted to assist directly in Sentenza's predicament but was unable to, forced to stay out of direct involvement by an outsider's orders until deemed appropriate to assist in their full capacity.

As she idly gazed around while strumming her photoharp she saw the air nearby shimmer briefly into a vague shape before vanishing from sight once more. Despite the shape being extremely vague and blurry she knew who it had been – the deep voice, the size, the form…

It crossed her mind as to how unfair this was for the spectral Prime – to be forced into inactivity by a superior's orders, to be constrained to only observe and rarely to interact. What if someone's life was in immediate danger? Was he just supposed to sit idly by and watch them _die_? If so, that was cruel and unusual punishment for someone like him. Helping and protecting was in his core programming. That was a Prime was supposed to do – help. Heal. Guide.

"I'll keep them safe – all of them. Don't worry." She murmured.

Unless she was hearing things, she swore she heard a deep voice reply back softly within her mind, but with assurance:

' _I know you will._ '

* * *

Outside the safety of the walls, her intended target sighed in relief and leaned back against the sides of her hiding place, feeling the malicious sleeper coding die away from the gentle music, felt her own mind assert dominance over it and force it down into the depths of her subconscious where it could do no harm – not to her, not to anyone.

' _Thank you, Charity. I owe you one, femme._ ' Sentenza thought gratefully, shuttering her Predacon yellow optics as she slowly but peacefully slipped into dreamless power down.

She never saw the wolf-like form of Steeljaw disappear into the depths of the woods. Steeljaw never saw her cloaked form either, hidden as she was from plain sight. It was a moment of mutual ignorance that saved the Decepticon from certain death at the hands of the currently unconscious Nightdemon.

Steeljaw personally wasn't going to come around this area for a while. Not with _her_ lurking around here...No. He'd discuss this with his pack. Together they'd find a way to get rid of her.

* * *

"Optimus? _What_ _exactly_ do you think you're doing?"

The Prime turned a consciously innocent blue gaze to Micronus. He was still getting used to this whole concept of being-dead-but-technically alive, as well as being trained in strategy by one of the original Thirteen in this bizarre alternate dimension that the mini-con Prime could alter and control at will. Micronus seemed decent enough of a personality, but he was quite vague in his tutoring and easily disappointed. When it came to instructing his strategy seemed to be to let him figure it out through trial and error. To him that wasn't really teaching. That was...he really had no idea what to call it. Guided practice?

"To what are you referring to?" he asked innocently.

Micronus frowned at him, optics narrowing in deep suspicion and mild, scolding disapproval: "Don't play coy with me. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

"He requested aid. Who was I to refuse to send it? With such a large scale breakout it is only sensible to send reinforcements."

"Look. Counterforce, I understand. Charity, I understand. Windstorm, I understand. Zodiac and Smokescreen, I understand. They know Bumblebee. Frostbite, I understand. Even _Backdraft_ I understand, even if he _is_ obnoxious and trouble-prone. All of those were very sensible choices. Sending each of them to assist with the crashed Alchemor were wise decisions. But _Sentenza_ – the Nightdemon? What could have possibly possessed you to send _her_?"

Micronus frowned at him in silence for a moment before continuing:

"She's more of a _liability_ than an _asset_. Each time night falls there is the very real risk of one of those prisoners – even allies, people she knows and cares for – of being slain by her. Unicron's physical presence is making her malicious night code far more difficult to repress, and far more violent in nature. In effect, she _becomes_ a Decepticon herself every single night if she fails to keep it in check."

"Which is precisely why I sent Charity and Counterforce alongside her." Optimus argued calmly. "They can help keep her in control of herself. Sentenza _knows_ Counterforce and would never harm him even in the grip of madness. You know that as well as I do. And Charity is a pacifist – a peacemaker. She could point a gun to either of them, put her scythe to their necks even, but she would _never_ pull the trigger or perform a killing blow – not on them."

Micronus sighed on realizing arguing with him was not going to work. It was like arguing with a polite, insightful, highly knowledgeable brick wall. He put a hand to his forehelm in pained exasperation, looking at the infinitely calm mech before him.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Optimus. I _really_ do. For all our sakes. Otherwise we're looking at a possible large-scale _massacre_ in the near future if this gamble of yours doesn't pay off..."

* * *

Once certain both Russell and Sentenza were peacefully in the grip of deep sleep, Charity stopped her strumming and lightly jumped down from her perch, intent on regrouping with the others. Her chronometer was registering this world's time as about three o' clock in the morning. On an instinct she gently plucked Russell up from his comfortable lawn chair. Being on his own at this hour was unsafe. He would be better off with his father and around the protective numbers of the Cybertronians.

"Hey, Charity!"

Grimlock thundered forward to greet her in bipedal mode, Frostbite trotting at his heels like the world's biggest herding dog, a cube of Energon clasped in his jaws. His voice started out loud and boisterous, but lowered in an instant when he saw who the femme was carrying in her hands.

"Oh, sorry. Sorry! 'Bee just wanted to know if Sentenza's out of it for a while. 'Cause, you know – _Nightdemon_ and all. He's kinda iffy about letting her run around at night here. _I'm_ kinda iffy about it, too. She's scrapping _scary_...I've heard stories about her...She's walking nightmare fuel."

Charity smiled softly, whispering:

"She's in power down, yes. It's very unlikely she'll awaken until dawn. But this one on the other hand..."

She gingerly pulled the hoodie over the boy's head to drown out some of the noise they were unwittingly making by talking. Russell stirred faintly, but thankfully remained asleep. She guessed that the warmth from her body was helping keep him under by providing comforting heat, like a thermal blanket.

"I'll get him to his father and join you in a moment, Grimlock. Excuse me."

Charity gracefully ducked past him with her slumbering charge carefully cradled in her hands. Frostbite whined softly as he watched her leave, obviously resisting the urge to run after them. Grimlock patted his helm in reassurance. It was kind of insane how protective the Predacon was of the small human even when he barely really knew him. He made Bumblebee look laid back. He'd heard a few tales of the White Hound's protectiveness, but to see if for himself was something else.

"He'll be fine, buddy. Steeljaw won't come anywhere near here for a while."

Frostbite whined again, but he seemed satisfied with his words. Then with a flick of his tail he slunk off to enjoy the precious – and generously offered – cube of fuel. Grimlock and Sideswipe together had given him one so he could restock on energy, after expending a decent amount of it tracking, fighting, and generally being very active, and also as a sort of peace offering. Sideswipe did not want a repeat of being bitten and paralyzed by a wolf mech. Frostbite himself hadn't enjoyed doing that at all – he had simply done what he thought needed to be done. Sideswipe had wrongfully attacked him, so he had defended both himself and his charge from the threat. Both had come to a mutual forgiveness over the incident, and it was silently agreed upon that both would protect Russell from any and all threats that may come, seeing as they were both very defensive of him. If Sideswipe wasn't there and Frostbite was, Frostbite would protect him, and vice versa.

Bumblebee had seemed more than happy with this arrangement. He was pleased that the two were willingly working together rather than against each other. Some other mechs he knew wouldn't be so forgiving to a seemingly unprovoked assault like the one Frostbite had suffered, but luckily the Predacon wasn't one to hold grudges. He had understood that Sideswipe had read the situation wrong. Of course, seeing as this was the "White Hound of Iacon" they were dealing with, he wasn't all that surprised over this forgiveness and cooperation from the wolf. His kindness and old-fashioned chivalry was very well known to both beast and mech. Predaking had taught his charge well.

Speaking of beasts, Zodiac's loud, outgoing behavior still stumped him to no end. He had told Smokescreen about it and he had seemed equally stunned to hear of it. Zodiac wasn't exactly an extrovert by any means – more accurately she was the biggest introvert in the galaxy. So what could've possessed her to lose her shyness and bellow at a crowd of strangers?

"No idea." Smokescreen replied frankly. "But 'Zee's personality is a bit...erm...quirky. One minute she could be hiding in terror and the next she could be pummeling someone verbally with her freakishly big vocabulary or – y'know, in Sideswipe's case – physically. That's not as likely to happen though, thank Primus, but it does happen if you hit the nerve. It takes some getting used to. Even _I'm_ not completely used to it."

They paused in their conversation to watch Charity slip by, deposit Russell on the couch, and then silently slip away again.

"I still can't believe he sent _Charity_ of all femmes. Charity – the Sweetest Thing on the Face of Cybertron – sent to Earth to fight 'Cons. I wanna say he's blown a fuse. Charity's a known pacifist." Bumblebee observed. "She doesn't hold with fighting. Out of anyone she's the most likely to drop a weapon in the middle of a firefight and try to convince the 'Con to stand down."

Smokescreen shook his head sagely. "I don't think he sent her here to fight, 'Bee. I think she's just here in her capacity as a medic. You guys didn't really have a medic before now, and Charity's honestly the best there is. I was in her clinic once, remember? She's really good, like Ratchet-level good. There's a reason she earned that nickname, and I think it's aside from the fact that she's really nice."

"You mean you actually _believe_ those rumors? That's she's...?"

"I do. I saw her with my own optics calm down Zodiac just by saying _three_ sentences. Three! _No one_ I've ever met has ever been able to do that. Even I can't do that! No one _normal_ can pull that off. There's just something off about her – good off, but still off."

Bumblebee looked off in the direction Charity had left, then in the direction of the 'Bots gathered in the near distance discussing the escapees intently with Fix-It. Smokescreen strangely made a valid point. There wasn't just something off about Charity or even, on the other end of the spectrum, Sentenza . There was something off about each of them, but like Smokescreen had said – off in a _good_ way.

But what was it that made them "good off?" Their personalities? Their actions?

Or something deeper?


	6. Chapter 6: Robots in Disguise

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

Morning came steadily. The twinkling stars and dark sky above were eventually washed out by the vibrant and warmer colors of daybreak as the sun climbed upwards and over the distant horizon. Bright golden rays ignited the leaves of the woodlands' trees by this world's alien star, and the surrounding areas were soon similarly bathed by its warm light.

Sentenza's audials slowly came back online as they picked up the cheerful noises from the woodland avians celebrating the arrival of day. Her Predacon yellow optics fluttered open only to shutter again at the sudden brightness of morning creeping into her dark yet comfortable hiding place just outside the salvage yard. Ugh. She'd never been much of a morning person even when the night code hadn't bothered her. Her optics were simply more adapted to lower light levels. But it helped her mood when she felt the night code forcibly retreat at the touch of the Sun's light. A small smile formed. At least sunlight here had the same effect as on Cybertron, maybe even a little bit stronger of an effect. That was one good thing she supposed.

She became aware of someone approaching in a faint whirring of tiny wheels and the heavier pedefalls of someone else. Unconsciously she emitted a faint, hollow groan and got up before they reached her hiding place, extricating herself and dropping her cloak. She was awake – she didn't need a slagging wake up call. Her targets turned out to be Sideswipe and Fix-It. Sideswipe looked a little wary, and Fix-It appeared just as equally cautious. She didn't blame them. They didn't know fully how the night code functioned yet. However it was quite simple how the coding worked: as long as there were solar photons touching her frame, she was no threat to them. Remove those photons from the equation and she became a very dangerous liability to their personal safety.

"'Morning boys. I miss anything important?" she greeted drowsily, waving at them. Her mannerisms that told them she was still coming back online.

"We just came to, you know, check on you. See if you were awake and all. 'Bee told us to come a-and make sure you weren't acting like your other half. Still." Sideswipe clarified quickly, his light stammer betraying he was still nervous and awkward around her.

Sentenza walked past him just close enough to let her port side wing brush against his shoulder plating. Her field sent out glyphs for reassurance and safety that visibly put him at ease. Much to her amusement her brief physical contact appeared to intrigue him. He watched with suddenly increased attention.

She could almost hear his thoughts: ' _Is she...? Is she actually interested in me?_ '

"Don't worry, hot rod. You don't need to be afraid of me during the day. I'm just a regular femme right now. Not dangerous at all..." she purred back at him, winking.

She continued onwards and easily leapt over the walls and into the salvage yard in one fluid, graceful movement while Sideswipe and Fix-It both stared after her at the spot where she had disappeared – one in shock and a tinge of wonder and romance, the other in flat-out annoyance at what he had seen.

"I like her." Sideswipe admitted dreamily.

Fix-It merely rolled his optics in an oh-gimme-a-break manner and sped off, heading for the gates so he could get back into the salvage yard and keep a close watch on the manipulative Seeker femme who so obviously enjoyed romantically toying with others. Sideswipe was apparently oblivious to such teasing.

She may not be the Nightdemon during the day, but that didn't make her any less dangerous in her own special way. Sentenza was just as mission-jeopardizing as her darker counterpart if left to her own devices. She was evidently extremely manipulative of others despite her being an officer of the law who should frankly know better than to behave like that, since it could lead to complications in the future. Only Counterforce's words told him that she wasn't _maliciously_ manipulative of others – she merely performed such actions as a means of entertaining herself and getting a few harmless – albeit shameless – giggles out of it. It was simply harmless joking and screwing around at the not-really-expense of others.

Still, that didn't mean he had to willingly put up with such behavior. Or stand there to witness it. He had better things to do than watch Sentenza wrap Sideswipe around her little digit.

What did Sideswipe even see in her to begin with?

* * *

Sentenza, followed closely by Sideswipe, found her allies gathered around Bumblebee in the center of the salvage yard, who was busy explaining something to them:

"Okay, you guys are going to need new vehicle modes if you're going to be working with us. You can't exactly go around with those modes that you have right now. The ones you have now would cause too much suspicion if and when you went into populated areas."

Smokescreen nodded agreement at his side, helping to clarify the situation further:

"While you're here it's _hugely_ important to stay under the radar, and having an Earth-based vehicle mode is going to help with that. I know they're not as flashy or pretty as the ones we have, but some of them are really nice. Sideswipe's got a freaking Lamborghini for crying out loud! Heck, the last time I was here I had a slagging _racecar_ mode, and it was awesome!"

"Even if Arcee kinda thought you were stupid for choosing it. Because it wasn't exactly the most 'low profile' thing you could've ever picked." Bumblebee teased.

Smokescreen waved the accusation aside flippantly: "Meh. She got over it. Sort of."

Bumblebee decided to simplify what they were attempting to say when Backdraft gave him a blank look:

"Look, the point we're trying to make here is that you need to stay hidden, so don't pick something that's going to seem glaringly out-of-place to a human observer. It needs to fit in regardless of whether you're in a densely populated city or a rural back country town. Even places that small have a couple thousand people usually."

All of the newcomers nodded understandingly.

"And lucky for you guys I got a bunch of automobiles you can pick from over on the other end of the yard. Anything from cars to trucks to motorcycles – they're yours for the taking. Choose whatever you feel would work for you." Denny informed them cheerfully. Then he eyed Sentenza apologetically, saying: "Unfortunately I don't have any jets or planes for you to scan, ma'am. Sorry. Those things are just too big to fit on my property. But there are a few airports around this area you could check out, and even a military base. Just be sure to use that cloaker of yours so you're not seen."

Sentenza nodded: "Alright, then. Give me coordinates to all of those airports and that military base and I'll check 'em all out in turn."

"Fix-It can get you those." Bumblebee told her, directing her to the command center where the orange mini-con was currently busying himself with something or other.

She went off in his direction without further delay, flicking her wings in thanks to the mech. Less than a minute later she was seen flying off into the distance. Then her form shimmered and vanished as she activated her cloaker.

Russell eagerly waved Backdraft, Charity, Counterforce and Windstorm to where his father's classic and customized vehicles were located. Each of them followed after the boy diligently, Backdraft and Windstorm interposing questions about possible vehicles they could pick while Charity and Counterforce remained silent, smiling to themselves.

Zodiac and Frostbite were absent, busy exploring the woods outside the salvage yard. Their beastly double nature prevented them from scanning a vehicular mode, so they were making the most of the situation by getting to know the home terrain and ensuring their abilities were up to par.

Bumblebee lightly shouldered his blue and yellow friend, sending glyphs for urgency. Smokescreen jolted when he got the message and darted off to join the others in their search. Having him here was going to make managing this many 'Bots _so_ much easier. Smokescreen, despite his tendency towards childish behavior and unfortunate habit of acting rashly in a crisis, had a natural skill in getting others to work together for a common cause. His social skills were actually better than Bumblebee's when examined in an unbiased point of view.

That was more than half the reason he was Second-In-Command to the _entire_ Elite Guard – he was _really_ good with people. Ultra Magnus was the authority figure that kept everyone in line, but Smokescreen was the glue that kept the force working together with his constantly upbeat and energetic nature. Oddly enough, Counterforce had an equally commanding air about him that hinted at a sparked leader, but he seemed more than happy to take orders from Bumblebee like a regular officer, even if Counterforce outranked him by a mile and a half as a specialized CSI. That sort of willing submission and modesty was something one didn't find every day. It got him thinking.

"'Bee? Something wrong?" Grimlock wondered.

Bumblebee started slightly, unaware that his expression had been one of deep brooding:

"Huh? Wha? No. I'm fine. Just...thinking. About why he sent these particular 'Bots to help. I just...I can't explain it, but I have this weird feeling that he sent them all here because of some deeper purpose. I think there's some kind of double reasoning for why he picked these guys. I'm stumped as to what it is, though."

Unconsciously he began to pace, frowning in thought:

"He had the pick of an entire planet's inhabitants. He could have even sent my old squad members to help with the Alchemor crash, but instead he chooses this bunch who, according to Smoke, didn't even know each other at all when they first met in Iacon. Counterforce and Sentenza were the _only two_ who recognized each other when they met up due to their respective fields of work."

"Wait. Didn't Smokescreen say that Zodiac knew Windstorm?" Grimlock wondered, scratching his helm curiously.

"Zodiac knew _of_ Windstorm, Grim. But she'd never actually met him in person or anything. She's way too shy to approach anyone. All she really knew about him was the fact that he'd been the mech to design the inner workings and suite of scientific instruments of her ship, the _CERF Tieyeian Bolt_." Bumblebee clarified.

"Stop worrying about it, 'Bee!" Sideswipe urged. "He sent help. Isn't that good enough for you?"

He stopped pacing to stare hard at Sideswipe:

"No, it's not. It should be, but it's not. Optimus _never_ picks at random. He's smart. Each of these 'Bots has useful practical talents, yeah, but I have this nagging feeling he picked them for some other reason that's not as glaringly obvious to me – a secondary reason. He's _always_ ten steps ahead of the game. These guys are here for a _reason_ Sideswipe." he finished.

Sideswipe rolled his optics: "Uh yeah. They're here to help us round up 'Cons, genius! Why else would they be here? He sent two cops for crying out loud! That should tell you they're here for them if nothing else freaking does!"

Bumblebee smacked a hand to his helm. Was he the only one seeing just how outlandish, downright bizarre, and seemingly random the Prime's choices really were when viewed in retrospect? Because viewed from the other end of the tunnel, the Prime's decision making skills appeared to have suffered a critical blow.

For starters, he had sent the feared Nightdemon of Kaon. That in it of itself appeared to be a colossal tactical blunder on his part. Sentenza's dark half was not known for showing mercy to her victims, and his task was to capture the fugitive – not end them. Bumblebee himself had actually had the misfortune of finding one of her dead targets in a side alley one time, and it had very nearly scarred him for life it was so surgically brutal. Secondly, he had sent a seemingly random stunt biker from Altihex who was famed all over Cybertron for causing trouble wherever he went. There appeared to be no obvious rhyme or reason for Backdraft's presence. Sure he had flamethrowers, and he was fast and agile, but how practically useful was he in actuality? Thirdly and last, he'd sent a medic renowned across Cybertron for her devout pacifism and disliking of lying to anyone. Charity didn't just refuse to fight others – she refused to lie to them, as well. She quite literally didn't seem to comprehend the very _concept_ of lying. And that could prove problematic if Steeljaw's pack managed to capture her further down the line. On the other hand, Charity was one of the few beings in existence capable of forcing the Nightdemon coding back into remission with her photoharp. Counterforce was one of them as well. It seemed that Optimus had in fact accounted for the wild card known as Sentenza – rather cleverly, too.

Everyone else's presence made perfect sense:

Counterforce's sharp intellect and photon manipulation, combined with his experience as a homicide investigator, made him a valuable addition to the group. He had a great talent for unraveling suspicious circumstances and solving seemingly unsolvable problems. He also had the air of a sparked leader, but he seemed more than happy to take orders from someone he outranked.

Windstorm's genius and knack for engineering would definitely come in handy. His technical know-how could be put to good use in repairing the hundreds of broken or malfunctioning stasis pods. He could also be of help to Fix-It in replicating more Decepticon Hunters. (And also, was it mere coincidence that each of the newcomers was armed in one way or another? Or was it purposeful design? Had that been part of the Prime's reasoning – pick those who are already armed?)

Frostbite's tracking skills and paralytic bite, and Zodiac's speed and cunning, were both unspeakably useful. Canipid Predacons as a rule of thumb were incredibly useful for search-and-rescue type missions. Their olfactory and auditory sensors put even the best Earth bloodhound to crying shame. They were _the_ beast you wanted on your team when it came to hunting something or someone down. Avioid Predacons were handy thanks to their more Earth-based look, and Zodiac's small size helped her blend even more. Her dark color and camouflage ability rendered her virtually undetectable at night, making her perfect for any night mission that occurred. She was the perfect night scout. She was also extremely intelligent, which was an added bonus. The only problem with her...was her insane social anxiety. That could prove to be an issue in the near future. But thankfully (or perhaps conveniently) Smokescreen was there to help keep her sane and relaxed.

"You think there's something special about them, sir?" Strongarm hazarded uncertainly.

Bumblebee nodded: "I _know_ there is, Strongarm. I just can't put my finger on _what_."

* * *

He didn't have to wait long for the newcomers to return.

Russell was the first to emerge from the other end of the salvage yard. Following at a close distance behind him was a small group of colorful Earth vehicles matching the color schemes of the newcomers – two motorcycles and two automobiles. Well, three automobiles counting Smokescreen's new Lotus Evora vehicle mode.

"Well? Will these work, 'Bee?" Russell asked, gesturing at his mechanical posse.

At his side, a burly customized Harley-Davidson decaled with flames revved its engine loudly. The entire vehicle shuddered violently as it emitted a thunderously loud roaring noise smoother than a feline purr, wisps of flame shooting out of the massive exhaust pipes.

Sideswipe grinned: "Nice choice, Backdraft! I like you're style!"

Denny laughed aloud: "Ha! So you're a Harley fan, huh?"

"Dude – it's big, it's fast, and it's loud. _I. Slagging. LOVE IT!_ " Backdraft squealed, merrily bouncing around on his tires like an excited child. To say it was adorable would be vastly discrediting him, because even Strongarm smiled at his behavior. "I seriously think I'm in love! I never wanna ever part with this bad boy! Can I keep it? Pretty, pretty please with a goody on top?!"

"Well, it'll work." Bumblebee admitted. "Customized Harley's aren't exactly common on the road, but they _can_ be seen occasionally. Just don't be surprised if humans start crowding around your disguise to get a better look at it. That kind of customization hints at an enthusiast."

"Pssh. I'll be fine. I love having fans! And I _am_ an enthusiast, bee tee dubs! I'm from Altihex, Mr. State the Slagging Obvious! We're all enthusiasts at spark, you know. We love personally upgrading our vehicle modes, to help us stand out in the crowd. Pretty much everyone there is customized to some degree – even the cops and the politicians. It's what makes us special. Know what I'm sayin'?"

Hearing the stunt biker wax poetic was actually kind of cute. It even gave Bumblebee an inkling of suspicion as to why Backdraft was really here – to act as the enthusiast, the one who kept the mood light even in the darkest times. He was literally there to be the class clown with a hidden philosophical side. A morale soldier. That wasn't something he'd thought to have around, but it was a brilliant idea.

Next to roll up was a sleek but dainty looking tri-shade green Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle. Detailed on the sides was a blue caduceus symbol that told of an emergency medical responder. With that color scheme and decal there was no mistaking Charity.

"Will mine do?" she wondered. "Russell was unsure whether medical officers here ever rode motorcycles, but then again none of the other vehicles were my size."

Bumblebee was quick to reassure the doubting, shyly skeptical femme: "I'm honestly not sure myself, but whoever has that crest on them is automatically let into any disaster area with no second glances. I don't think any bystanders would second guess, though police officers _might_ do a harmless double take. You don't need to worry. It'll fit in just fine."

Denny whistled appreciatively when a streamlined dark purple Tesla Roadster with lightning yellow detailing on the doors and hood resembling artistic lightning bolts rolled up for confirmation.

"Wow. Someone's got expensive tastes. That thing's a real classic."

Windstorm's front wheels swiveled nervously. "Will it fit in or did I choose something too likely to be called out as unusual by observers?"

"No, no. Not at all! Teslas are actually pretty common in the U.S – just not the Roadster variety. Those're typically found in Europe. They're actually really special because they were the first wholly electric vehicles to hit the highway. They have no carbon footprint because they run on rechargeable batteries instead of gasoline."

"I didn't know you were a car expert, dad." Russell observed curiously.

Denny merely winked and shrugged.

A glittering golden and silver Lexus RC F rolled up. Out of all them, Counterforce's seemed both the most modest yet at the same time the flashiest due to his color scheme, though that wasn't really his conscious fault. It wasn't a sports car per say, but it was a very nice vehicle regardless. Despite his color scheme, his was actually the most likely to fit in wherever he went.

Smokescreen bumped him in the side doors in a friendly, reassuring manner: "Don't even bother asking him about it, Goldie. Yours works just fine. Trust me."

"If you say so..." Counterforce replied somewhat hesitantly.

"Oh wait, wait, wait! 'Bee! I got an idea!" Grimlock said suddenly. "If Counterforce is a cop as his job, you know, normally, shouldn't he need cop lights or somethin like the ones Strongarm has? So he can blend in better?"

Bumblebee smiled: "That's a great idea, Grim. But since he's not a standard cop car model or color, he's going to have to put the lights in hidden areas to show he's an undercover operative just so Earth law enforcement doesn't get too suspicious. Lexus brand vehicles aren't usually employed as standard patrol cars, you know. Fords, Dodges, Chevys – those are the main ones you see in North America."

"I think I have some lights lying around somewhere he can use." Denny offered. "I'll need to outfit them beneath and around his headlights, his grill, and on his side view mirrors. That's where they're usually put I think. We don't need to bother putting the CCPD logo on him, since he's acting as an undercover."

He cupped hands around his mouth and shouted in the direction of the command center: "Fix-It! I could use an assist! I don't exactly know how to outfit an alien robot with police lights! I don't know you guys' biology well enough to do that, and I'd feel bad if I hurt him by accident!"

"Coming!"

Fix-It dropped what he was doing and zipped over to him eagerly.

Denny waved the golden and silver Lexus to follow him. Flicking his mirrors in acknowledgment to the yellow and black patrol officer, Counterforce dutifully trailed after the human and his mini-con partner like an overgrown dog. Soon they were gone, vanished into the depths of the salvage yard. As soon as they were gone there was a commotion at the gates. There was a chilling howl and a high-pitched keen as Zodiac and Frostbite soared over the walls with flawless grace. Frostbite skidded to a stop, Zodiac keening happily and playfully and clawing and pecking at his helm while the Canipid barked and yipped at her.

Smokescreen transformed right away. Putting two digits to his lip-plates he gave a peculiar whistle and held out an arm just like a trained falconer on Earth would. Zodiac's attention instantly riveted on him, and in a flash she flew over to obediently perch on his wrist. She emitted a gentle, almost inaudible crooning noise when he brought her closer to his helm. She nuzzled at his faceplates before drawing back and flying off towards the command center, but also not before lightly pecking at his helm bridge and making him smile.

"D'aaww. You two are so _cute._ " Sideswipe teased, smirking.

Smokescreen scowled playfully at him, rolling his optics. "Oh shut up. She is not cute. She's a Pit-spawned little troll is what she is!"

"How'd you meet her anyway?" Strongarm wondered. "I mean – an astronomer and a trained, high ranking military officer? Not exactly the pairing I would've thought up. No offense, sir."

"Yeah, well – to be fair it was less of a 'first meeting' and more of a high-speed, head on collision that left both of us unconscious for a full minute." Smokescreen laughed. "Getting hit by a speed gifted pushing her limit tends to knock you out cold, you know. Pretty scrapping painful, too. It's like getting hit by a giant bullet. I mean, _you_ try getting hit in the back of the helm by a winged bullet pushing five hundred miles per hour and walking away from it."

Russell winced sympathetically. Using that analogy it _did_ sound like it hurt pretty badly. Lucky for Smokescreen that Cybertronian armor plating was dense and very durable. It took a lot to actually hurt them.

"So what happened after you two woke back up?" Grimlock asked, getting interested in the story.

To everyone's surprise both Bumblebee and Smokescreen broke out laughing, putting hands on each other's shoulders to keep themselves from topping over in their wild hilarity. It took them a short while to recover long enough to reply successively:

"What do you think? She ran away!"

Everyone blinked confusedly.

"She ran away? Why?" Russell demanded.

Smokescreen fully got a hold of himself: "Yeah, I don't know if you've noticed, but 'Zee has some _major_ social anxiety issues. Interacting with other people is freaking terrifying to her. It's like nightmare fuel, ramming into some random guy in the streets who may or may not take kindly to being rammed into in the first place. She leaps to the worst conclusion and panics. That's pretty much what happened there."

"Wait. She was _scared_ of you? Okay, _that's_ hilarious." Sideswipe cackled.

Smokescreen cracked a huge boyish grin, laughing light-sparkedly again:

"Yeah, I found it laughable at the time too. I mean – do I _look_ in _any_ way dangerous or intimidating to you? No. Do I _look_ like I would overreact to a silly little accident like that? No, but she thought I might, so she got the heck outta dodge before I had the chance to apologize, because frankly it was my fault for not paying attention. If I'd been paying attention and not daydreaming I would've heard her cry of warning and been able to react in time."

Everyone at this point was listening in to the story with rapt attention. Even Backdraft appeared intrigued to hear this.

"It literally took me almost a month to track her down and apologize in person. Turned out the reason for that was because she was on a mission with Neutrino's crew in the Hydrax. I found her at one of the observatories outside Iacon after she got back. She took one look at me and then ran off again, assuming I was there to yell at her something just as silly. Luckily I managed to shout enough before she got out of hearing range and convince her I wasn't there to hurt her or anything. I was just there to return a data pad she'd forgotten to collect when she'd crashed into me."

He laughed a little to himself in remembrance. That reaction after the crash had startled him and left him curiously confused, and her reaction in the observatory had convinced him something was...different about the little femme. She was someone who needed a bit of help when it came to interacting with others, and was too nervous and scared of others to ask for it. He'd just...wanted to help her – he hadn't really meant for a relationship to be the end result. It had just turned out that way.

"Trust me when I say that convincing Zodiac is a lot harder than it sounds. But she eventually learned to trust me and the relationship kinda spiraled from there." he finished.

"I can see why she likes you so much. You're a very upbeat personality." Charity observed warmly. "You two complement each other very well. Zodiac is very intelligent but has trouble interacting with others. You on the other hand are very socially suave but lack her extensive scientific skills and knowledge. Erm, n-no offense."

Smokescreen smiled. "None taken. I know I'm not as smart as she is. But she's nice enough to dumb down the fancy science talk to where I can understand it, even if she kinda teases me while doing that. Just because she's shy and reserved around other people doesn't me she is around me. If she trusts someone implicitly she becomes a whole different person. Like, you wouldn't even recognize her."

Bumblebee chuckled: "Smoke and I constantly joke that their relationship is more like an endless troll war than an actual romantic attachment. They're more like close friends who screw with each other just for the lols. You know – getting on the other's nerve to see who'll crack first or just to get a funny reaction. And they _do_ keep score believe it or not."

"And so far – Zodiac's winning." Smokescreen laughed, glancing with affectionate pride in the direction of the command center.

The little astronomer caught his gaze and waved back. Then she stuck her glossa out at him. He returned it, hands on his hips. Zodiac fell over laughing hysterically.

"Ha! Point for me, sucker!" Smokescreen declared. Zodiac just kept laughing.

"Like I said. Troll war." laughed the yellow mech.


	7. Chapter 7: Pack Hunt

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

Counterforce was politely immobile as Fix-It and Denny worked on his exterior. Occasionally he would voice a question or comment on what they were doing or about the Alchemor crash, but other than that he stayed strangely silent in order to keep the distractions to a minimum. He knew mini-cons could fly off on a conversational tangent if given the right bait and get distracted in consequence.

"So you're a cop back home?" Denny asked, busy on his headlights and grill. He could sense the mech felt a little bit awkward, so maybe idle conversation could loosen him up somewhat.

"A homicide investigator." Counterforce corrected lightly. "But yes."

Denny jerked his head up to stare at the tinted windshield in shock. This guy solved _murders_ for a living? Huh. Well, then it was no wonder he was so calm about hundreds of Decepticons running rampant through the wilderness. He had genuinely dealt with far more gruesome situations than a large scale jailbreak. He dealt with the gory aftermath of such a bad situation should it go horribly, nightmarishly wrong.

Fix-It was busy at work on his side view mirrors. He had heard a lot about this mech while aboard the Alchemor. He was an effective celebrity in the law enforcement community, and a small number of the Alchemor's inmates were there due to his sharp intellect and investigative skills. Officers assigned to work with him never forgot their first meeting; neither did Decepticons forget their encounters with him. He left a very distinct impression on those he met, Autobot or Decepticon.

Denny decided to drop the subject for a lighter one: "Ah, sorry about Russell pointing out your strange optics. He didn't mean it as an insult or anything."

To his relief Counterforce emitted another one of his warm chuckles, replying: "No, no. I know he didn't mean it as an insult, Mr. Clay. Curiosity is to be expected in one so young, and I don't find my heterochromatic optics to be a bad thing at all. In truth, they're actually very helpful."

"What, do crooks have no idea what to make of 'em when they first see 'em in a dark alley?" Denny joked, envisioning such a scenario in his mind.

He could practically see a petty thief or murderer stopping dead in their tracks upon sighting those bizarre optics of his in a dark side street, wondering what the heck they were and whether or not they should just run for it while they still had the opportunity. And by the time they'd come up with a decision it would already be too late.

Counterforce laughed: "Exactly! You're exactly right! So you see they _are_ helpful to me even if they are a bit on the funny side. Criminals hesitate for a brief, key moment when they see them and that allows me to strike unhindered."

"What about that photon manipulation talent of yours?" Fix-It asked. "I'd like to know more that. I've never heard of that kind of special talent before. How does it work? Are you still able to use it at night?"

The Lexus remained silent for a while, thinking about how best to answer this. Even he didn't fully understand why he had this power in the first place, not that it wasn't immensely useful to him when out in the field. It had helped save many lives. He hesitated to reply right away mainly because photon manipulation was a completely new ability to their race, never before observed in anyone, and he appeared to be the only Cybertronian to be gifted with this special talent. Not a whole lot was known about it, and even he was still trying to fully get the hang of it.

"I'll answer your latter question first. I _can_ use it at night – it's just a bit weaker overall because there are fewer photons reaching me. Luckily this planet's moon is quite bright, especially when it's in its full phase. Only during the 'new' phase is my power severely dampened. I _can_ store them to counteract that, just not for extended periods. My absorption panels start overloading if I contain them for too long, such as more than eight hours."

"Ahh. I see. You're the power _opposite_ of Sentenza. She gets stronger at night, and you get a little weaker. Yet you are not afraid of her? Why is that?"

"Because I have nothing to fear from her." Counterforce replied simply. "As long as someone is there to provide emotional support to her, remind her of her true nature, and in my particular case, wash her with solar photons, then she can regain control of herself, even if it is somewhat difficult on what she calls 'bad nights.' Last night, however, required me to assume the role of an alpha leader and outright order her to stand down." He paused. Then he added slowly: "Frankly, _that_ worries me. I've _never_ had to do that before. I don't _like_ ordering people around, especially friends. Sentenza herself doesn't like being ordered around either. It's why she became a private detective. She doesn't like being at the beck and call of protocols and rules that she thinks are useless. I kind of act as her unofficial liaison between the official and the private sector. She..doesn't tend to like law officers."

Another pause, this one much longer than its precursor. He sounded very worried, very anxious when he at last said:

"Something about this planet isn't quite right. It's making her malicious night coding far more violent than it normally is – and that's saying something believe me...But for the spark in me I don't have any idea what's causing it...I suspect Bumblebee _might_ know something, but he seems reluctant to voice his knowledge."

' _And I fear if we don't find the source and correct it, or find a more efficient means for Sentenza to fight whatever it making her behave this way, we may very soon be dealing with a bloody, violent massacre on a grand scale._ ' Counterforce thought privately.

Unconsciously he shuddered slightly at the gory mental imagery his thoughts conjured. He knew far better than anyone ever could just how dangerous Sentenza could truly be to the unwary.

He had done everything in his power to assist the detective on Cybertron during those bad nights where the coding had consumed her entirely. He had helped her then, drawing her back to her true nature with words of comfort when unable to help her physically with his photons. He had helped her cope with the pain if she had taken a life while in the grip of darkness. Her cruel and near sadistically gleeful nature and her autocratic tone in the clearing wasn't like her. He had seen the night coding take her over before on Cybertron, but it had never gotten that bad before. It was like she had become someone else out there. She hadn't even seemed to be have been _aware_ of the coding surfacing and taking her over until he had ordered her to stand down.

That observation terrified Counterforce to no end. What if she lost control entirely one night? What would happen then? They might not have any other choice but to put her in one of the stasis pods to keep her and everyone else in the vicinity safe from her, and he didn't want it to ever come to that. Hopefully no one would ever have to see her fully succumb to the night code here on Earth, because once that happened there were apparently very few ways to draw her back out of that deep, dark abyss of total emotionlessness. At that point, ending a life was instinctive, normal, and completely acceptable in her mind.

When it came to that, only Primus himself could help her, and she was far out of his reach here.

* * *

Bumblebee was personally enjoying the near silence in the salvage yard. Sideswipe had taken Backdraft out on a patrol of the area to show him around, so the two chattiest mechs out of the bunch were currently occupied elsewhere, which was a blessing to him.

Smokescreen was over at the command center with Zodiac and Russell. Zodiac had taken to Russell rather well all things considered, and she was busy milking every last bit of information she could possibly get out of the boy about human astronomy and constellation lore while skimming through a book detailing the various bird species that inhabited the region. The former scout shook his helm in renewed wonder. Either this tiny femme was some kind of information addict or she was a very talented multitasker who could juggle two unrelated topics with ease. Probably both, according to Smokescreen's previous descriptions of her. He had described her as information sponge more than once. She could never get enough data, so she'd turned into a jack of all trades on scientific subjects.

Frostbite was out roaming the woods again, this time accompanied by Strongarm and occasionally radioing in to Bumblebee about something he had seen and requesting clarification – mostly sightings of native wildlife. Bumblebee had no worries about either of them being spotted by random hikers – for a giant wolf he was amazingly stealthy, and his powerful senses would give a considerable time gap for them to find cover. He also no doubts that if anyone could find a stasis pod and/or its missing occupant out there in the wild, Frostbite could. A master tracker such a he could find anything he was looking for. Once he had a scent singled out there was no hiding from him.

Windstorm and Grimlock were occupied in repairing some of the malfunctioning stasis pods. The burly Dinobot was doing well enough holding the massive pods steady for the eccentric engineer, but it had only taken about a minute for his optics to glaze over thanks to Windstorm's highly technical engineering jargon that he happily spouted off in an endless torrent. Bumblebee watched the pair as they went about their tasks, curious and amused. In more than one way this inventor reminded him of Ratchet. He'd have to ask the mech if he had ever met the crotchety old medic during a visit to Iacon. Actually, so far as he knew, Ratchet was still here on Earth working for Unit E. He'd have to pay him a visit at some point.

Windstorm eagerly prised open the control panel on the pod, fingering some miraculously undamaged wires with a childish glitter of intrigue in his lightning yellow optics. He saw the mech come to some sort of decision and grab two of the undamaged wires, guessing that they might go together.

And that turned out to a mistaken belief.

 _ZZZAP!_

Electricity wildly arced up and down the inventor's frame while simultaneously charring his digits and lower arms blacker than ink. He emitted a delirious sounding yelping noise from his glitching vocalizer before falling backwards onto the dusty ground, optics fritzing. Occasionally his digits would twitch from the surge.

"Is he alright?" demanded Russell anxiously.

Smokescreen hollered out: "Charity! Sir-Talks-a-Lot just zapped himself!"

The dainty medic came speeding in from the other end of the salvage yard like a green bullet. She seamlessly reverted out of vehicle form to kneel over the prone body of the inventor, her jade optics alight with concern. She knew better than to touch him due to electricity still surging through his wiring, but nonetheless let her hands hover over him as she searched for damage.

Eventually she smiled softly, getting back to her pedes.

"He's fine." Charity announced. "Lucky for him the surge wasn't that powerful. In truth, I think this poor mech has an unfortunate talent for getting accidentally shocked judging by the very advanced surge protectors built into him. Either his Guardians put them there at a young age or he did so himself."

"So he's, like, jinxed for life or something?" Russell wondered.

Charity shook her helm: "No, no. Not jinxed. Merely unlucky. Such bad luck does occur. Also, I don't think his curiosity and mad scientist behavior really help with that problem of his. Let's just consider him fortunate that those surge protectors are there to keep him safe. From all I can see they're doing a remarkable job at redistributing the electrical currents to non-vital systems."

"Shock immunity." Zodiac chirped, clarifying the medic's fancy terminology.

"Are you my mummy?" Windstorm wondered deliriously.

Smokescreen smirked: "Eh, I dunno about _total_ immunity there, Midge...I think this guy's a few wires short of a bundle right now."

* * *

"Frostbite, wait up!"

Strongarm frankly couldn't believe she was being outpaced by a Canipid. Despite his size this mech could really keep up a decent pace, and he was incredibly agile – weaving through the underbrush and darting around trees with grace and skill borne from his bestial nature. Each of his movements was almost dance-like in its execution – smooth, fluid. Not once did he ever falter.

Frostbite skidded to a stop on realizing he was leaving his hunting partner behind. He whipped around and then sat down on his haunches, audials still on the swivel for any signs of unwanted company. His chest plating moved rapidly, maw hanging open as he let out excess heat.

[Sorry, cadet. Not used to having a vehicle-former hunting partner.]

Strongarm still found it strange that the Canipid had yet to drop his beast form for his bipedal mode. It would be so much easier to communicate with him that way, but he seemed stubbornly intent on not switching forms. He seemed far more comfortable as a beast. Even his manner of speech betrayed that – he had said hunting, not scouting.

"Just try not to get too far ahead, okay? We need to stay together."

[Alright.]

With a flick of his tail he trotted off, Strongarm strolling briskly at his side. This was another oddity she had noticed: his very succinct, somewhat reticent speech. He was always very brief in whatever he said, never saying more than what was needed, though he was never vague. On the contrary – he was _very_ concise and to-the-point, almost blunt in his deliveries. Yet despite all that he was very civil around others. His manner may be abrupt, but his tone was never truly dispassionate or icy. He was...she honestly couldn't come up with the right words to describe him. Curtly kind perhaps?

Frostbite forged onwards through the dense undergrowth. Without any warning he suddenly yelped and whined, jumping backwards as though a gunshot had gone off.

"What? What is it?" demanded Strongarm.

[Hit something. In the shrubs. Felt metallic.] Frostbite growled back, audials pinned back suspiciously.

He crept forward carefully, sniffing at the dense shrubbery where his front paws had impacted the target object. Then the Canipid began slowly but systematically moving the twigs and leaves aside with his snout and paws to get a better look at whatever it was he had bumped into. Strongarm tried to move in to assist him, but Frostbite growled softly. It was pretty clear he wanted her to stay back for her own safety, and his reasoning was easy to follow. It was his core programming surfacing. Canipids worked in tight packs and were highly protective of anyone within that pack. Frostbite saw her as a pack member and would do what he could to keep her out of harm's way.

Eventually the foliage was parted to reveal a damaged stasis pod – open and void of an occupant.

She quickly radioed Bumblebee: "Sir, Frostbite and I have located a damaged pod at our current position. It's empty. No sign of the prisoner it held."

[See if you and Frostbite can find any clues. It's a long shot, but maybe he can get a usable scent off that pod. Maybe he can track the 'Con for us, figure out where he or she fled to.]

"Understood, sir. I'll update you if we find anything."

* * *

Locked inside an impound yard at the CCPD was not exactly the best way to end an energetic tour of the city and its surrounding neighborhoods. In hindsight, maybe they shouldn't have been so rambunctious in their driving styles...

Two vehicles, a bright red Lamborghini and a flamboyant Harley-Davidson motorcycle were busy half-sparkedly bickering with each other about their current predicament over their private comm. links.

[Come on, Sides. Let's just call 'Bee already! He'll get us out of this. I know he will.]

[Nuh-uh. No way. Do you have any idea how mad he'll get if he finds out about this? I'll be put on patrol for the next lunar cycle! I'd rather be made a herald of the Unmaker than tell Bumblebee that I managed to frag off half the Crown City Police Department!]

[Sometimes it's better to beg forgiveness _after_ a deed is done. I should know. Altihex law officers pretty know me by sight. Slag, I've got my own personal overnight cell in a lot of the stations. I've gotten in more trouble with the law than you could ever manage to do, and I'm pretty sure Bumblebee knows about that. Don't mean to brag, but my reputation kinda precedes me.]

Sideswipe fell silent as he considered this tidbit of information. Backdraft certainly didn't behave like a criminal from all he had seen of him – in fact, he acted more like an overgrown sparkling. Then again, sparklings did have a bad habit of getting into trouble, if only by sheer accident.

[Arrested? But...you're not a criminal. I wouldn't peg you as one for a klik.]

[I'm not a criminal. I'm just a humble miscreant who loves to have a bit of harmless fun. Not my fault that trouble tends to erupt around me and I'm sometimes found in positions that led to misunderstandings with the law. I'm...well I'm kinda like you, actually. You're not a crook. You're not a bad mech. You just happen to know how to do things that a "punk" would know how to do. Frankly that kind of stuff is known by anymech who loves a good practical joke or two.]

[Alright, fine. I'll call him. Just stop being so...deep. I-It's _weird_ coming from you.]

Backdraft laughed: [What? A ne'er-do-well stunt biker who pledged himself to Amalgamous at an early age isn't allowed to be philosophical from time to time? My, my, my. What a _biased_ opinion you have of me, my dear Sideswipe!]

At this, Sideswipe actually managed a laugh. So that explained his trouble-making yet easy-going inner nature – he was a follower of Amalgamous, the Shifter Prime! By many he was considered the very first prankster. He was the original hooligan and jester of the Thirteen, funny, casual, and laid back; and legends said he wasn't much for authority figures either. He didn't despise them really; he just didn't like being bound by a crazy amount of rules. He had been a free spirit who loved a good joke.

He opened up a comm. channel to the yellow and black mech: [Ah, 'Bee? Is there any way you could help us out? We...kinda got into a bit of trouble with the cops...We're locked up in an impound yard and um...pretty please don't kill us.]

There was a hollow groan from the other end: [I should've known you two going out together could only end in tears. I'll have Denny and Counterforce swing by as soon as they can. Just hang out there for a while. And _don't_ cause any more trouble, you hear me? Stay low and _stay put_ – both of you.]

[Roger dodger, 'Bee. We won't move from our spots.]

[Gotcha. And, um, thank you...Won't happen again. Cross my spark. Promise.]

Bumblebee gave a rather disbelieving noise and then cut the line.

Sideswipe hesitated. Then: [Alright, sooo...whaddya wanna talk about? We got some time to kill.]

[Dunno. But who says we gotta talk about anything? 'Bee said to stay put, but he didn't say we couldn't have a little harmless fun while staying in place, now did he? As miscreants, we got other, more refined ways of entertainin' ourselves durin' a long wait. You know how to hack, and I know how to plan a good prank.]

There was a decidedly mischievous undertone in Backdraft's voice now, and oh did Sideswipe love it to death. He knew what the biker was debating now, and he was so in on it. He watched as the biker's mirrors flicked over in the direction of the single guard on duty nearby who was thumbing through an old, rather battered kindle e-reader.

[See that officer dude or whatever he is over there? Let's see if we can convince he's either totally bonkers or the impound yard is haunted or something. What do you say, Sides?]

[...Where the heck have you been my whole life?]

* * *

Charity kept a close watch on the delirious engineer until she was certain he could stand upright without aid and speak normally. She also wanted to ensure there was no lingering electricity in his systems, because such residual charges could put unnecessary strain on his surge protectors. Eventually, though, he managed to recover from his unwitting electrocution and then he was right back to trying to fix the same stasis pod that had zapped him in the first place. This time around he was noticeably more wary around its wiring, much to Grimlock's amusement.

Bumblebee came over and joined her. "Gotta hand it to the mech. He's certainly got drive in him."

She smiled faintly: "You mean he's stubborn."

"Well, that too. I will note that you didn't try and stop him."

"As a pacifist I know when not to fight. That doesn't mean I can't be firm with my patients, but you get my meaning. Besides, Windstorm is intelligent. He learns from his mistakes – unlike some mechs I could name who are as of right now locked in an impound yard on the other side of town."

He smiled wanly: "You overheard that, huh?"

Counterforce rolled in at that moment, Denny hopping into his cabin and Fix-It going off towards his command center. He had been listening in on Charity's comm. link so that he could remain updated as the various goings on of his new-found allies. It was lucky for him that Charity didn't mind such protective eavesdropping.

"Honestly if it were me giving the orders, I'd leave those two scoundrels there overnight just to teach them a lesson. But knowing those two, leaving them overnight would just result in more trouble." Counterforce observed humorously.

Bumblebee stared at him: "Oh my gosh. We even think alike. This is awesome."

Despite being in vehicle mode it was pretty clear that Counterforce was smiling broadly. He was used to others admiring him even if it left him slightly uncomfortable. It was just something he dealt with due to his reputation, and Bumblebee's rather innocent idolizing of him he couldn't hold against him.

"By the way, has anyone seen or heard from Sentenza yet?" He wondered innocently. "She's been oddly silent for a while."

Unseen and unheard by anyone present, a figure cloaked from sight crept up behind the golden and silver Lexus with slow cat-like treads. Hidden as she was from them no one saw her devious smirk and glittering ruby optics. It was taking all of her willpower not to cackle in delight. She crept ever closer until she was at last within reach of the vehicle's rear end. Then:

"HIYA GOLDIE!"

" _GAH_!"

Bumblebee failed to suppress hysterical snickering as the Lexus literally jumped a full six inches into the air out fright and utter shock.

" _Sen'za!_ Are you _trying_ to give me a spark attack?!" Counterforce demanded.

The air behind Counterforce shimmered like a mirage to reveal Sentenza herself doubled over in merriment, one hand on her knee while she bawled in laughter. She was grinning widely and her field was alight with glyphs for glee and playfulness. Counterforce eventually got over the preliminary shock and soon joined in, followed by Denny. He was happy to see Sentenza acting normally, because he knew that this mirth was going to be very short-lived. Already the sun was starting to lower towards the horizon, heralding nightfall and the resurgence of her other half.

"Ha! That never gets old!" Sentenza laughed. "You are such a scaredy 'Bot, Goldie!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are –"

"Did you get a vehicle mode, detective?" asked Bumblebee.

She smiled, winking: "Sure did. Found it at that military base, too. It's just what I was looking for – sleek and streamlined yet terrifying to an observer. Plus it works in conjunction with my cloaker, so I can use it while flying and not drain my fuel reserves – well, I mean, at least not as much as I usually do. Check this out."

Sentenza leapt into the air and at the same time began folding into her new vehicle disguise. Her transformation was smoother than silk, and when complete here disguise appeared to be a heavily modified version of the F-117 Nighthawk fighter jet. It had curved wings that matched with Sentenza's own, though they weren't as curved as the original. Mini-guns were located under each wing. Her red detailing glowed along the length of her frame.

"Cool!" Russell shouted, observing from the command center.

Denny whistled: "I didn't realize Uncle Sam was redesigning the old Lockheed Nighthawk. They sure gave the old bird a makeover!"

"Just keep those mini-guns pointed _away_ from us at all times, okay?" Bumblebee requested.

Sentenza cackled. "What, even if I loaded 'em with harmless paint balls or dummy ammo?"

"Okay, maybe not _then_ , but you get what I'm saying?"

Sentenza transformed back into bipedal mode with a flourish. Her expression was slightly yet plainly annoyed. She planted one hand on her hip, frowning grimly:

"I know what you mean, lieutenant. I understand you are concerned for your allies' safety. I know that when night falls I become a liability, and I promise you I will do what I can to lessen the risk. But you _do_ realize that you _are_ going to have to learn to trust me during daylight hours at _some_ point, don't you? I _can_ be trusted then."

Bumblebee winced at the harsh truth. "You're right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you were untrustworthy in general."

She sighed: "It's alright. I'm used to people not trusting me. Frankly I deserve it. I'm nothing more than a walking programming accident who becomes a monster in consequence. I'm what happens when Primus makes a mistake and doesn't even bother to correct it. He made a monster. It's my curse, and I have to live with." Her wings lowered as she spoke, her voice a soft growl.

With that she spun on her heels and slunk off, vanishing from sight.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Things get interesting next chapter, because now we're in line with the episodes. And let's just say this next chapter is going to be a lot darker than the original episode was since Sentenza is here, and the episode did happen at night….**


	8. Chapter 8: A Howl In the Night

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 8**

Bumblebee stared at the place where the detective had vanished with a hurt expression long after she had disappeared from sight. He hadn't meant to imply that she was untrustworthy at all. His words had just come out wrong and he felt horrible that they had. She had forgiven him for it, but he still felt bad about what he had unwittingly implied. He also hadn't realized until this very moment that Sentenza saw her split personality problem as the Creator's version of a curse. In her optics, Primus had made a mistake when programming her and hadn't mended the damage. Sentenza firmly believed that he had abandoned her and unsurprisingly was very bitter towards him in consequence. She viewed him as incompetent and even cruel.

Yet if the detective were to step back and reflect she would see that Primus hadn't abandoned her – in fact, quite the opposite was the case. Her golden and silver Praxian friend had implied that her other half was much more contained and reserved on Cybertron. It would only surface on unusually dark nights, during nights only one moon was in the sky, or if she hadn't been out during the day enough. That seemed to show without a shadow of doubt that the ancient being was doing what he could to assist Sentenza, to help her maintain control of herself. On Earth it seemed her other half was much more difficult for her to repress without ambient help from Cybertron itself. His presence was what kept the detective's killer instincts under control. Here, she was far out of the reach of his healing light and exposed to Unicron's chaotic influence.

Because that was the thing that had made him jolt earlier: the mech was dead certain that the Chaos-Bringer's physical presence was the cause for the detective's greater inclination to violence. Even in stasis the evil entity could still influence others indirectly by mere ambiance alone.

But this got Bumblebee thinking: What if her night coding – her other, darker half – _wasn't_ an accident at all? What if it was encoded within her intentionally to serve a higher future purpose? Primus wasn't dumb, nor was he incompetent – far from it. He was incredibly crafty and forethoughtful, and he would _never_ intentionally harm someone.

If that was indeed the case, however...then what exactly was that higher future purpose?

With a short, decisive nod of his helm he started off in the direction the detective had gone. He needed to speak to her, convince her that he hadn't abandoned her and, though it was a long shot, perhaps he could also convince her that she wasn't a monstrosity of programming – that she wasn't a freak.

He glanced down on hearing light wheel whirs and was somewhat surprised to see Fix-It following him with a concerned expression on his faceplates, a scanner clasped in one hand. His large blue optics were greatly troubled, but there was also mute sympathy in them that hadn't been there before. Fix-It had overheard the Seeker femme's derogatory self-description of herself and was appropriately shocked. He was ashamed he had viewed her as a danger previously. Technically she still was a liability to the team's safety, but she herself had stated she would do whatever was needed to reduce the risks.

He handed the taller mech the scanner. "This will lead you to her. She isn't cloaked, lieutenant, though I'm fuzzled – muffled – _puzzled_ as to why she isn't. She's just outside the walls. Just…be careful when you approach her. She may still be agitated."

Bumblebee took the scanner, smiling rather thinly: "Thanks, Fix-It. I'll make sure I don't frag her off any more than she already is. All I'm gonna do is apologize to her. If she wants company, fine, but if she wants to be left alone I'll come right back here."

Fix-It nodded once before zipping back over to his command center to check on Frostbite's and Strongarm's progress with their located empty pod. Hopefully the Canipid had managed to glean a scent he could use to track the missing occupant by now, or perhaps they had even found a clue that hinted as to the absent Decepticon's identity. If luck were with them he might be able to cross-reference such gathered information into the Alchemor's database and find a match. But that was _only_ if luck was on their side. Some of the prisoners were described as highly intelligent and clever.

He could only hope the one they were searching for was neither of those things.

* * *

Counterforce and Denny had dutifully retrieved Backdraft and Sideswipe from police custody, the two miscreants snickering and cackling the whole drive back. When asked what they were so entertained by their snickers evolved into bawling, ringing laughter. Eventually Backdraft explained that they had managed to pass the time by pranking a sole guard on duty within the impound yard. No, they hadn't given away their true nature – they literally hadn't moved from their allotted spaces, relying on sneaky hacking and wireless manipulation rather than out-and-out actions. It had been hilarious everything they had been able to do.

Sideswipe cackled impishly once he'd finished, transforming alongside his motorcycle companion the moment the gates had rumbled shut. After tonight he was absolutely certain that Backdraft was some sort of mad pranking genius. The stuff he had come up with had been hysterical and even borderline terrifying to his co-conspirator. This crazy Altihexian stunt biker was a veritable lord of practical jokes.

"Hey guys!" Russell waved, running towards them, waving and grinning. "CCPD didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

Denny got out of Counterforce's driver's seat, letting the friendly homicide investigator switch out of vehicle form and wander off as though in search of something only he could find. Grimlock thundered over and tried to get him to come and watch a movie that Russell had put on to pass the time until Frostbite and Strongarm returned, but the mech politely declined the offer. The man smirked up at the two alien miscreants, replying with a short laugh:

"Nah. Actually, that guard seemed pretty darned eager to hand these two back. I can only imagine why. That poor man must have thought he was dealing with possessed demon vehicles or something by the time we got there and took them from him."

Sideswipe and Backdraft shared a knowing glance, sniggering. Then they slunk off before Bumblebee had the chance to corner them and reprimand them for their earlier rowdy behavior, or before he found out about their bored shenanigans in the impound yard. Because frankly one of the pranks they had pulled would decidedly get them into trouble. It _had_ involved Backdraft's flamethrowers, after all. Granted the guard hadn't been harmed in any way, but they were fairly certain they had scarred him for life against red, flame-decaled Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

* * *

Faint moonlight streamed into the clearing where Frostbite and Strongarm were busy at work. Stars twinkled overhead, their faint but steady electromagnetic songs audible to the advanced sensory systems of the two aliens. All around them, soft noises of emerging nocturnal creatures could be discerned.

Frostbite paid these latter noises next to no mind. To him they were merely distractions from his mission, even if a select few sounded worthy of his curiosity. He could investigate them at a later date. Right now he needed to focus.

[Find anything, cadet?]

[Some pede prints near the edge of the clearing, but they're pretty badly smudged. All I can tell for certain is that our 'Con is definitely a beast-former of some kind. His pedes look like claws. What about you? Got a scent?]

[Yeah, but don't recognize it. Not surprising, really. Something about the scent is….off, though.]

This caught Strongarm's attention in a flash. [Off? What do you mean, Frostbite?]

She heard him growl softly over the line: [Don't know, but it's like the scent's been…contaminated. This 'Con's scent has been mingled with dozens of others – also unknown. Not a good sign. Means we're dealing with a siphoner.]

Strongarm shivered in spite of herself. She had heard rumors in the Elite Guard of certain Cybertronians who could drain a victim's Energon from their bodies, being unable to process raw Energon themselves. Why was a subject of debate in the medical community. That there was a rogue siphoner roaming the wilderness did not bode well.

[We need to get back to the lieutenant and inform him of this right away.]

Frostbite quickly concurred. [Agreed. Cadet, rendezvous back at the pod with me. We'll head back together. It'll lessen the risk. Last thing we need is one of us getting ambushed and drained. We stay together, that 'Con never gets his chance.]

The Canipid sensed Strongarm was about to reply back, but before she could get a word out a shriek of untainted terror split the stillness of the night, making his heckles prickle and his audials prick up in surprise. After about a minute or so the cry dwindled away to nothing.

[Strongarm?! Cadet, do you read me?! Strongarm!?]

Static.

Panic rose in his spark as he darted through the undergrowth in the direction of her cry. Upon reaching the point of origin of the cadet's frightened cry he discovered no trace of her. However, there was a fresh scent permeating the area. It was an exact match to the one he had found on and inside the damaged stasis pod. It was…strange though – the cadet's scent hadn't mingled with the siphoner's, meaning she hadn't been drained as of yet. Her scent was still quite distinct – separate from the others. Stranger still was that there were no signs of a struggle, even though there was plain evidence of Strongarm having been dragged for a few yards, but then the drag marks simply ended after that marker. Going by the near total absence of pede prints and drag marks after that marker, it was clear that this 'Con could fly. He also had to be fairly decent sized as well in order to lift the heavily-built cadet off the ground. That could mean his hideout was somewhere close by. Flying a heavy truck-former around was no easy task, and the siphoner no doubt could only accomplish such a feat for a short while before system strain began and forced him to land. Beast-formers didn't have the luxury of an engine to keep them airborne.

Regardless, there was no way he was going to hunt down the rogue siphoner on his own. It was far too dangerous, even with his abilities. He needed help. And he knew just where to get some.

Throwing his helm back, the Canipid unleashed a bone-chilling howl...

* * *

Bumblebee had stopped a short distance away from where the scanner was showing Sentenza to be located, unsure of whether or not to approach her. She might not be too thrilled to see him after his tactless words from earlier. She didn't seem the type to take offense very easily, but then again he didn't know her very well. And at night her personality shifted drastically into the dark end of the spectrum.

So did he approach and risk possible death? Or did he simply turn around and leave her to her bitter brooding?

' _What would Optimus do in a situation like this?_ '

Honestly, what _would_ he do? Optimus had been very skilled in reading any given situation on multiple different levels – an expert social analyst. He knew when to speak and when not to, when to act and when to remain neutral. It was what had made him not just a great archivist, but a great leader, because he took the time to get to know his troops. He nodded. If he wanted to help Sentenza, he had to get over his unconscious mistrust and fear of her and get to know her a little better – hear her side of the story, listen to her grievances and at the least _try_ to understand what it was like to _be_ her.

He made his decision. The yellow and black mech nodded sharply once and approached the piling of metal where the Seeker femme was brooding. He could barely detect her field even just a few yards from her, but he purposefully kept his strong to give her ample warning of an approach.

"S-Sentenza?" he hazarded rather shyly.

When no reply came he slowly drew closer to her hiding place, peering around into the cavity within from around one side. He felt he might be trespassing, but he pushed the sensation aside determinedly. He found her sitting inside the haphazard piling of metal with her knees drawn up close against her chestplates, curved wings held down and red optics dully staring ahead of her into the dark woodlands. She barely seemed to take any notice of him.

He tried again: "Sentenza?"

She jolted visibly before turning to look at him. She didn't look all that thrilled to see him, but she didn't look distinctly upset either – more...resigned and depressed and even a little on the side of apathetic. Her voice was a mere mumble when she spoke:

"Oh. It's just you. Hey."

Then she turned her helm back to stare out into the woodlands once more, red optics dulling in hue. Listless. That was the best word to describe her right now. One would think she was totally oblivious to him again, but he knew she was unobtrusively observing him now out of the corner of her optics. She was curious as to why he was here.

"Can...Can I talk to you for a klik?"

She shrugged: "Sure, whatever. It might help keep me sane if anything, at any rate for a while. What do you want to talk to me about, 'Bee?"

He sighed in relief, sending out a single glyph of thanks to her. He then joined her on the ground in a similar position to the one she was currently in, sitting facing her. Still feeling a bit awkward, he began by apologizing for earlier in a somewhat rambling manner.

Sentenza lifted a hand to silence him. "You don't need to apologize. Your fears are not unfounded, and your concerns are more than justified. I _am_ dangerous. I know I am. It's just my fate to be that way. It's who I am. I'm the Nightdemon. I can't get around that, and I can't get rid of her. The most I can do is cope and adapt and manage her to the best of my ability. And sometimes I fail. Well, a lot of the time I fail."

Bumblebee winced at the harsh truth.

Then, smiling faintly, she admitted quietly:

"To be honest, I'm kind of glad that you came to see me – came to just chat with me like a friend would. I...well; I don't have very many friends, lieutenant. It's a sad truth. I'm too dangerous to be around. Only a rare few 'Bots actually have the courage to befriend me. My contacts view me as an employer and a business manager. Counterforce is one of those few." Her smile grew by a fraction, warming. "There aren't very many like him."

Was it just his imagination, or did it seem like there might be a hint of romance between these two?

"I...It gets lonely." she finished, resting her chin on her folded arms, wings lowering even further.

Bumblebee gazed at her in both pity and sadness. Seekers by nature were very social creatures. They thrived off interaction. It was the reason Seekers formed Trines, so that they would never be alone. To leave one isolated would often drive that particular Seeker to depression, or worse – madness. He hesitantly reached forward and laid a hand on her arm, but before he could offer any words of comfort a loud, haunting howl followed by a startled yelp echoed off the nearby mountains. Sentenza's helm jerked up at the sound, worry creasing her brows. After a moment or two it faded away into obscurity.

In a flash, Bumblebee opened a comm. channel to the Canipid whose cry they had heard: [Frostbite? Are you alright? Frostbite, come in! Do you copy?]

His own worry devolved into panic when all he heard was unnerving, static-interrupted silence. It was clear to him that something was seriously wrong. Acting on a grim hunch he tried to open a comm. channel to the cadet – only to be met with the same foreboding result. He didn't view this as coincidental. Strongarm and Frostbite had gone to investigate the pod, possibly track down the prisoner as well. Something was seriously wrong if the two 'Bots were now failing to answer his hails.

* * *

"Whaddya you mean they're gone?" Grimlock gaped open-jawed.

Everyone had quickly gathered upon Bumblebee's and Sentenza's sudden and panicked return to the salvage yard. Never had any of them seen either 'Bot so alarmed. Bumblebee's expression was a mask of worry and fear, and Sentenza's wings twitched constantly as she tried again and again to contact the two missing Cybertronians to no success. Fix-It, on Bumblebee's order, had tried to locate them via their life signals, but the broad electro-pulse scan had come up with nothing to show for his efforts. They seemed to have vanished quite literally into thin air without a single trace.

"I can't pick up their signals at all." Fix-It repeated in a tight voice, working away on his holographic display screen.

Zodiac twittered nervously on Smokescreen's shoulder, diodes on her wings lighting up to form twin question marks and exclamation points. It was pretty plain what she was asking, because it was the question everyone was thinking, but was too scared to ask aloud:

' _Does that mean they're offline?_ '

Smokescreen shook his helm adamantly: "No. It could just mean their signals are being blocked, or they're underground. Or...Or both, actually. Remember, 'Bee? I was underground for a while during the whole Darkmount thing and the 'Cons couldn't find me. Neither could Team Prime. Guess I was too deep below for radar to pierce it and mineral composition interfered with comm. signals."

Bumblebee jolted in realization. He turned to Denny in an instant: "Does that abandoned quarry go deep underground?"

Denny stroked his chin thoughtfully: "I don't think so. Quarries are just big holes in the ground. They don't really have tunnels – I mean, some do, but they don't go very deep. This wasn't a mine. It was a stone quarry. Workers just carved into the mountain to take what they needed. But I _do_ know there's an old cave system a few dozen miles away. I used to explore it as a kid. _That_ goes deep enough that it might interfere with Fix-It's scans. Bit of a maze though to be honest."

"Ah, yes! Yes! And mineral composition would further interfere with electro-magnetic waves. Especially if there are deposits of _lead_ in that cavern! Lead is a well-known energy signal dampener! It would also interfere with communications!" Windstorm provided excitedly, gesticulating as he spoke.

Fix-It managed a wry little smile. He was very pleased Windstorm was here to help solve problems such as this. His brilliant processor could reach conclusions incredibly fast, far faster than most others his age, making him a valuable time saver.

Bumblebee shifted down into vehicle mode, opening the driver's side door to permit Denny and Fix-It.

"Get in."

Sideswipe did the same for Russell. With Frostbite one of the missing, it was his task to keep the kid safe, and he wasn't about to let him out of his sight, especially with dangerous Decepticons running loose in the wilderness. He wasn't about to fail his end of the contract.

Everyone else shifted into vehicle mode, lining up behind the two vehicles. But Bumblebee paused right at the gates as they rumbled shut behind them, engine idling while his side mirrors flicked back in the direction of the gates. Counterforce read him like an open book, interpreting his hesitation with pinpoint accuracy. Leaving the salvage yard unprotected was a fool's idea, as it would leave it open to attack and ransack by wandering, perhaps overly-curious Decepticons. Someone – preferably more than one 'Bot – would have to stay behind as a sentry.

"Charity? Zodiac? Could you stay here and keep an optic on things for us? Man the comm. lines maybe? Make sure Steeljaw doesn't come slinking round here again? He might take advantage of Sentenza's absence."

The femme medic transformed and nodded: "Certaintly."

She held out an arm to Zodiac, but the Avioid appeared visibly reluctant to leave her bond-mate's side for any reason, keening nervously and pecking at his side mirrors like an overly worried Guardian. It took some good-natured teasing and reassurances from both Smokescreen and Bumblebee to finally convince her to stay. Both femmes watched as the squadron of vehicles (plus a Dinobot) vanished down the road until they were finally lost from sight.

As gently as she could, Charity led the nervous Avioid back into the salvage yard and towards Fix-It's command center while murmuring reassurances to her and stroking her wings, telling her that there was nothing to be overly worried about.

Zodiac looked less than convinced.

* * *

The drive to the cavern passed by uneventfully, and the large grouping of Cybertronians arrived at the rather eerie looking mouth of the cave in question. Dozens of soft nocturnal sounds simply added to the spooky mood that was quickly building all around them, and wispy clouds blocked out what little shreds of moonlight streamed down.

If ever a cave looked fit to hide a Decepticon, this one sure slagging did and then some. Frack, the 'Con might as well have posted up a bright neon outside saying "Evil Lives Here! Do Not Enter!" It was almost laughably unsubtle. It was also insanely dark inside, inky black and murky darkness that seemed to almost suffocate the cavern's interior. Was this Decepticon nocturnal perhaps? Some mechs did function better at night, although such darkness might prove problematic with Sentenza. She was barely holding it together as it was – going into a cave might send her off the deep end. Unfortunately, leaving her out here was just as dangerous.

Bumblebee let his human passenger out and transformed, prompting everyone else to mimic his action. Only Grimlock remained in his alternative form, drawing in bursts of night air in a vain attempt to track his missing friends. He wasn't a tracker like Frostbite, but he was getting faint whiffs of a familiar scent – Strongarm.

"Fix-It, you stay out here with Smokescreen, Denny and Russell. If our 'Con tries to flee, this is where he'll come out. Denny says this is the only exit big enough for a Cybertronian. He's not gonna be expecting company when he tries to make a break for it."

"Right. Yeah. Good plan." Smokescreen agreed eagerly, letting the orange mini-con out and transforming in turn. "I'll keep watch out here."

Smokescreen was actually quite decent when it came to ambushes thanks to his Phase Shifter. Past adventures proved that. After all, he had managed to swipe two Omega Keys right from under Megatron's faceplates on the mech's very own warship and make away with them virtually unscathed. He'd even had the audacity to _taunt_ him!

"Counterforce, could you take point? That energy scimitar of yours is bright gold and it'll be a useful light source. Maybe this 'Con doesn't like light and he'll try to flee from it. It's a long shot, but maybe we can corner him that way."

The homicide investigator nodded shortly, following his reasoning perfectly. "I can, yes."

"Then what're we waiting for? Let's go!" Sideswipe and Backdraft chimed together, practically bouncing on their pedes with impatience. Each moment they milled around out here gave their target that much more time to prepare for them. In their optics, precious time was being wasted determining who would go first.

With that, the large group of Autobots entered the gloomy cavern, the glittering form of Counterforce in the lead.

* * *

At first Denny's words of the cavern system being labyrinthine in nature seemed to be groundless, or at the very least vastly exaggerated. Right now the path ahead was fairly straightforward with only a few natural curvatures in the walls that foretold of it being made by flowing water. However, that shared opinion quickly changed when the main tunnel they were traversing split into four separate ones, each one slightly smaller and more constricted than the original. This provided more proof that the prisoner they were searching for wasn't all that large; otherwise he would have a hard time navigating.

"Uh...Which one do we take?" wondered Grimlock, scratching his helm with a three-clawed hand.

Sideswipe pointed down the second tunnel: "That one!"

"No, that one!" Backdraft corrected, pointing down the first.

"Hm. I say the first." Sentenza mumbled half-sparkedly.

Bumblebee groaned and smacked a hand to his faceplates. Maybe he should've left Backdraft and Sideswipe back at the salvage yard, or back at the cave entrance with Smokescreen. They didn't seem to be capable of focusing for more than a few minutes at a time.

Counterforce managed a wry smile at his exasperation before convincing both mechs to stay alert and vigilant. They were in the enemy's territory. This Decepticon knew the area far better than anyone else present. If they didn't pay attention they could easily be ambushed. And just like that, both miscreants snapped their mouths shut and readied their respective weapons – one drawing a sword, the other activating his arm-mounted flamethrowers. Both mechs took up defensive positions around the group, Grimlock eagerly joining them.

Windstorm pulled up a holographic display. After a moment he coughed lightly to earn everyone's attention. Then he said learnedly:

"If we are still arguing over which sub-tunnel to take, I would highly advise taking the third. My analysis show that mineral composition is heaviest there, which would provide our quarry with adequate cover. Such deposits would interfere the most with 'intrusive' scans. It would be simplicity itself to hide two Cybertronians in a setting like that."

"True, but that might be the conclusion he _wants_ us to arrive at. That tunnel could be a trap." Sentenza said. There was a slight hiss just barely detectable in her words, showing she was consciously fighting her other half as she spoke.

Bumblebee turned to her. "What do you suggest then, detective?"

But Sentenza was unable to reply. She winced and held a hand to her helm, her air intakes forcibly slow and steady as he optics glitched between their normal ruby hue and the Nightdemon's darker, blood red shade. It was unsettling to watch. Thankfully, Counterforce knew her thought processes well enough to guess what she would have said.

"I think what she's suggesting is that we split up into pairs, each pair going down one tunnel. Going down them all one by one would be far too tedious, even if it provides the advantage of numbers. By the time we finished searching in that manner, our allies could be drained dry. Pairs of two should work to our purposes here. However, it will leave one of us alone."

The yellow and black mech nodded, conceding to the strategy readily enough, though his voice was slightly hesitant – cautious. He saw the advantages, but also the disadvantages. It was risky, but it would work if everyone remained on high alert. And besides, when was 'Con hunting ever without risk?

"I'll go with Backdraft and take the second tunnel." Sideswipe offered, sounding a little over eager.

Bumblebee glanced at Sentenza. "I'll go with the detective and take the third tunnel."

"I shall accompany Grimlock, if that is permissible. We will investigate the first tunnel." Windstorm stated.

"I'll go alone and check the fourth tunnel." Counterforce finished grimly. He glanced sharply at Bumblebee who appeared mere seconds away from arguing his seemingly foolhardy decision. "I'll be fine, lieutenant."

"You sure? Wandering alone down here with a Decepticon? That...seems a bit reckless and irresponsible of you. You're needlessly putting yourself in harm's way. We could just save that fourth tunnel until later, you know. You don't have to go in by yourself."

"I'll be fine. This sort of thing _is_ in my job description, even if it might be in fine print at the very bottom of the document. I've dealt with situations similar to this and come out none the worse for wear. Don't worry about me. And frankly we can't afford to waste time debating the sensibility of my choice."

While he didn't fully agree with the Praxian's reasoning, as it seemed foolishly risky to him, Bumblebee was forced to accept regardless. If he wasted precious time arguing then Strongarm and Frostbite were left that much longer at this Decepticon's tender mercies.

"Alright. Pair up and fan out." said the mech. "Keep your comm.'s open at all times, and do _not_ stray from your partner's side. Keep in visual range no matter what. Play it safe, 'Bots."

With that, each pair vanished down their chosen tunnels, and soon they were swallowed by the murky gloom, their pedefalls softly echoing off the stony, subterranean walls. After a few tense moments, silence eventually reigned supreme.

Unheard by any above or below was a shrill, harsh, hyper-sonic cry followed by a faint sound of pure terror...

* * *

 **Author's Note: I like to split episodes into two parts. Gives me more room to work.**


	9. Chapter 9: Walking in Darkness

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 9**

* * *

Charity soon discovered that keep the socially awkward, infinitely anxious Avioid relatively calm was much harder than she had anticipated. Much, _much_ harder.

As a medic, she knew how incredibly possessive and overly protective bond-mates could be of each other, especially in times of danger. It was due in part to them being able to sense what the other sensed – emotionally and physically. Zodiac was no exception to this proven medical fact, and she appeared to be hyper-receptive to even the tiniest emotional nuance. But there was also a darker, more profound reason for her anxious protectiveness. Spark bonds themselves were revered and feared in equal measure and were seen as the ultimate display of trust by Cybertronians. When one occurred, those two separate sparks physically merged for a brief moment before returning to their respective shells, leaving their energies synchronized. They retained their unique characteristics afterwards, but in a grand sense behaved as if they were a single spark. While that presented its share of advantages – such as spark-to-spark communication, an acute awareness of what the other was feeling and where they were, along with few other minor things – there was also a massive and often lethal downside to such synchronization. It was known rather unscientifically as "spark break syndrome".

Spark break syndrome occurred thanks to the two sparks having their energies synchronized and behaving as one entity. If one member were to suddenly go offline, the other member's spark would react violently, acting erratically as it tried to locate and re-bond with its missing partner. Failing that, its wavelength would then fall back to what it had been before in such a violent, sudden way that if often resulted in the solitary mech or femme's demise. Basically, if one member died then the other would soon follow them to the grave.

Charity personally did not see this as an inherent downside. In her mind it was a form of mercy. To live on knowing you would not see your loved one again for a long time was emotional torture. But to leave and join the Allspark together? That was far more preferable.

Zodiac herself was perched atop the control console in Fix-It's command center, twittering nervously as her talons darted over the controls with surprising levels of dexterity. Diodes on her wings and chest flickered randomly, betraying her fear and uncertainty. Charity reached over and gently stroked the Avioid's helm with two slender digits.

"Zodiac, sweetie, calm down. He'll be fine. He's clever. He learned from smartest femme on Cybertron, after all. He'll come back." she murmured.

The tiny femme purred at the stroking and visibly appeared to calm, the over-active diodes dimming back to their default brightness setting. It was equal parts a non-verbal thank you to the medic for her reassurances and an acceptance of her compliment. Charity leaned forward on the command console, pulling Zodiac closer in a small embrace.

"Just make sure their comm. lines are kept working. Stuff like that isn't really my forte. I'm just a medic. Tech stuff is more your line of specialty."

Zodiac bobbed her helm determinedly and went back to her task at the console while the gentle femme medic did her best to assist her through her presence and direct action. It gave her something productive to do and would keep her mind from wandering and jumping to worst case scenarios as it was so often prone to. But it didn't stop the worrying entirely. She would always worry.

* * *

"Okay. Bored now."

That comment came from Smokescreen not even before five minutes had passed. He was delicately perched atop the cavern's arching maw, crouched down and looking surprisingly like some blue and yellow metallic cougar or leopard with his doorwings lowered almost completely flat against his back. On his wrist, the Phase Shifter shone a faint, ghostly turquoise hue.

Despite the gravity of the situation, both Denny and Russell managed to crack small smiles at his bubbling impatience. He was rather like Sideswipe in a way, but strangely in another way he acted much more mature than the red miscreant. He had this almost young child nobility to him, a childish chivalry that Sideswipe didn't possess – at least not as readily detectable. He took acute pleasure in helping people.

"Stay focused, please, sir." Fix-It requested, optics riveted on the scanner device in his hand. Already the signals of the other Cybertronians were becoming distorted from the minerals and lead deposits within, and their comm. chatter was slowly becoming fritzy and muffled.

"Please don't call me that."

Fix-It's helm jerked up in surprise: "Call you what?"

"Sir. It...it doesn't feel right. I don't like my friends treating me like a superior, because I'm not. I'm just a regular mech."

Russell shook his head, an oddly knowing yet enigmatic smile forming on his lips. "I don't think that's the reason he's calling you 'sir', Smokescreen. It's out of respect, not because of your position. You're in command of an entire armed military unit back on Cybertron. If _that's_ not deserving of respect then I dunno what is."

Smokescreen blinked. His optics darted from the boy to the mini-con as though in bewilderment. Oddly enough, there was a faint flicker of what looked like pain or sadness in them as well, as if Russell's words had dredged up old emotions and memories he had long buried. Fix-It detected the faint glyphs for sorrow and guilt in his field, but just barely. He muttered something, but it was too soft for any of the three gathered to hear.

"Say again?" Denny asked.

Smokescreen eyed him before dropping his gaze shame-facedly: "Never mind. I-It's nothing,"

None of the three present looked entirely convinced that it was "nothing". That sort of reaction signaled something was troubling him – something he didn't want to talk about right now, or possibly ever. They decided it was best to drop the subject so the blue and yellow Elite Guardsmech could better focus on his task of ambushing anything resembling a Decepticon if it tried to flee the cavern. If he let himself get distracted they might just lose their quarry, not to mention they would be vulnerable to an ambush.

* * *

Bumblebee had to admit that in the near inky blackness of the cavern's tunnels Sentenza looked far more like her given name of the Nightdemon. With the red detailing, her burning red optics, and her overall black color scheme she resembled far more a vengeful spirit sent out to hunt and prey on the unwary and less of a socially ostracized Seeker femme. With her red energy scythe out she only served to fit the name even further. She honestly looked like a Cybertronian Grim Reaper. It was literally taking every ounce of his willpower not to shy away from her in trepidation. Only the fact that her optics were their normal bright yellow was keeping him from doing just that. That signaled she was in control of the night code right now. He had no reason to fear her, but regardless he kept his hand hovering over his hip-mounted pistol just in case things took a turn for the worse.

And what was worse, she saw this. Guilt bubbled in her optics and her wings lowered in tandem with her helm. She remained silent, however.

He had every right to be wary of her down here in the dark bowels of the planet. Her night code was maliciously trying to surface, and it was only getting worse and worse the deeper and farther they went. She could almost hear a raspy, sadistic voice whispering in her mind, telling her to give in to her malware and enjoy the ensuing blood lust and carnage she would cause. And what was even more frightening was that she was having a hard time arguing back with it.

Then she felt a hand laid on her shoulder. She looked up to see two bright blue optics appraising her, encouraging her.

"Don't listen to him, detective." Bumblebee whispered. "That's not who you are. You're not a monster."

"Aren't I?" she mumbled derisively, wings twitching aggressively. "I've killed people before now, killed them without mercy. My hands are stained with the Energon of dozens of victims. If I'm not a monster, then what am I?"

His grip on her shoulder became tighter then, firmer. Her forced her to turn and look him in the optics. "You're _not_ a monster, Sentenza. You're just...torn, I think. You don't really know who you are. At least not yet."

Sentenza's wings lowered again, her expression wracked with shame and self-loathing. But she didn't attempt to remove his hand from her shoulder armor. Instead, she used it as an anchor – a reminder. Counterforce believed in her, as did this brave mech. With two mechs backing her fight, she mentally snarled and shoved back at the re-surging night code, hissing five words at the voice she had heard – a defiant chant.

 _She was not a monster. She was not a monster. She was not a monster._

* * *

Windstorm and Grimlock strolled along the heavily lead-lined tunnel at a cautious pace. While not able to follow half of the eccentric inventor's rapid mumbling, he still tried to make light conversation with him to stave off the wariness that was slowly building inside him. The burly Dinobot, while brave in the daylight, did not like being confined to the inky darkness of a constricted underground cave. It left him with very little room to maneuver and fight.

"Grimlock, do calm down. Panicking is no doubt what the Decepticon wants from us. As long as we keep our helms and maintain alertness this fugitive will never get his chance." Windstorm told him kindly but crisply, his attention more actively focused on his holo-display and the readings it was showing. He was doing his absolute best to help Zodiac keep the comm. channels functioning, and the aggravating deposits of lead were not helping in the slightest.

"R-Right. Yeah. I'm calm. I'm calm..." Grimlock replied, not sounding entirely convinced. He would never admit it out loud, but he was terribly scared of closed spaces. He couldn't move very well in them.

They reached another tunnel juncture. Windstorm stopped abruptly just then, making the Dinobot crash into him. Grimlock was about to ask what was going on and why had he stopped, but Windstorm silenced him with a glance, holding a single digit over his closed mouth and shaking his helm. Silently he held up the holo-display for the Dinobot to look at it, pointing at a pulsating dot that was located just around the bend which was growing closer.

[Our ...vict, if...not mistaken.] he clarified over his private comm. link. The minerals toyed with the signal, but Grimlock understood most of the words despite the signal warping.

Windstorm motioned for them to proceed forward as quietly as possible. Perhaps they could get the drop on the convict and take him or her unawares. The inventor and the Dinobot peered around the corner...

A high-pitched screaming noise struck their audial receptors, and the mechs gave strangled cries of fear before collapsing onto the stony cavern floor.

* * *

Frostbite's sensory net came back online slowly, sluggishly. His audials were unconsciously pinned back flat against his helm. His entire body felt weakened and lethargic, and fear pumped through his fuel lines from the nightmare he had just awoken from – a nightmare where he had lost his keen senses and left in a labyrinth of inky black tunnels that constantly shifted. He'd cried out for his Guardian, his pack mates, even for Onyx. But no help had come.

"Ah, the famed White Hound of Iacon finally wakes. Might I say what an honor it is to meet such a distinguished mech in person. Your reputation precedes you, great Predacon." a smooth, slightly raspy voice commented casually.

His optics snapped open on hearing that voice. A little distance away from him was a smaller black and white mech who very much resembled a vampire bat. He was perched on the shoulders of the form of Strongarm who was held in place by a rocky, gel-like substance to keep her from struggling as the bat mech calmly drained Energon from her body via a specialized set of fangs which were currently buried in her neck. Beside her were the unconscious forms of Windstorm and Grimlock. When he tried to leap to her defense the Canipid found that he was held in the same substance. He snarled aggressively.

The bat mech pulled away from the cadet's neck cables, using a webbed-looking hand to remove a few droplets of the glowing fuel from his faceplates. "Now, now. I do not intend to kill her, nor you, nor them, brother. You would be of no use to me dead."

Frostbite growled in his native language: "I am no brother of yours, cursed-spark. Only a Pit-spawned demon feeds off an unwilling donor."

"One does what one must to survive on an alien world, brother."

"Call me that one more time and I'll rend you limb from limb, demon!" Frostbite snapped angrily. He forced a small amount of liquid nitrogen out of his saber fangs as a warning to the casually psychopathic siphon. There was a hiss as the frozen gas touched the floor.

The bat mech eyed him as though insulted at the name he had been given. "If you must call me something, call me by my name. I am Nightstrike. Might I be so bold as to ask yours? I only know of your granted titles."

Frostbite snarled and refused to answer his question. He struggled against his rocky cocoon, valiantly fighting the weakness of Energon loss. Nightstrike saw this and clicked in reproval. He opened his mouth, unleashing a high-pitched scream that awoke terror in the Canipid's spark. Out of sheer horror his systems crashed and he fell into the darkness once more, whimpering weakly once before going silent.

* * *

Counterforce forged ahead into the darkness, waving his golden energy scimitar ahead of him like an unorthodox flashlight. He did not permit himself to feed the anxiety bubbling within him, instead focusing on the subtle warmth and light inside him. Conscious, rational thought told him this was simply his spark, but a deeper, more spiritual part of him firmly believed that it was the faint presence of the Creator giving him courage. He knew he was not alone.

Ever onwards he walked, deeper and deeper into the dark labyrinth. When he reached an intersection he stopped, debated for a brief moment, and then went down the one to his left. He could sense...something coming from down its length, but he hadn't the remotest idea what it was he was sensing. All he knew for certain was that it was familiar. But was it good familiar or bad familiar? Who or wait awaited him down the tunnel? When he reached an abrupt bend in the tunnel, he slowed his pace and dimmed his blade. That presence he was sensing was much stronger now, but he was still unable to identify it. Taking a slow intake of air, he drew his scimitar once more and leapt out into the tunnel. Then he stopped cold, a relieved smile breaking out on his faceplates. He lowered his weapon.

He was standing face-to-face with Sentenza and Bumblebee.

"Geez, Goldie. Are you really scared of the dark so badly you'd jump out in front of a friend _with a slagging sword_?" Sentenza teased. She snorted: "Pfft. And they say _I'm_ the unstable one."

Counterforce cast a look at the yellow and black mech – an enigmatic look that seemed to stare into the mech's spark for a moment. Bumblebee noticed this and shivered in spite of himself. He got the bizarre feeling that just then that it was _not_ Counterforce looking at him, but someone else entirely. It was like someone else, someone far older and far wiser, was looking at him. What was more, the odd optical illusion he'd witnessed in the yard occurred once more: his sole gold optic flashed a shade brighter. Uncanny didn't even begin to describe it.

"I see you've done wonders in helping her maintain control of herself down here, lieutenant. For that I offer my sincerest thanks."

It sure still _sounded_ like it was Counterforce, but again Bumblebee couldn't shake the feeling it was not the homicide investigator doing the talking. He just..something about the manner in which he had spoken didn't ring quite as belonging to the Praxian. It was slightly _too_ formal. Counterforce, polite as he was, was also incredibly laid back and casual around others. He was not in the least uptight despite following regulation.

"Did you find anything in the tunnel you searched?" Bumblebee asked at last.

Counterforce shook his helm, and uncanny moment ended.

"No. No signs of Strongarm, Frostbite, or our fugitive. Not surprising. Our 'Con knows these tunnels and passages far better then we do. He's probably been watching us this whole time. He's got the home field advantage here. We're nothing but children bumbling in the dark. Useful as my blade is it renders me very easy to be tracked via its light output. That's half the reason I split from the grouping system."

"Stick with us then." Sentenza offered, reaching out and grasping one of his hands. "You searched your tunnel, so now you can help us out. Well, until another junction shows up anyway."

The homicide investigator bowed his head in acceptance, smiling. He'd stick with these two until he was forced to split off once more. Staying at the detective's side somehow made him feel complete in a way never before felt, and it made his spark practically sing inside him. Oh, it was a wonderful, giddying sensation. He was conscientious enough to realize what this meant and was humble enough not to argue with it. If Primus thought they were meant to be together...but he would wait until the Seeker femme felt it and responded to it as well before he said anything.

Yes, he would wait. There was no rush. They had all the time in the world.

* * *

"Come on, Sides! Keep up, slowpoke!"

Sideswipe shook his helm in amazement as he watched the stunt biker practically skip down the length of the tunnel as though without a care in the world, humming a lively, bouncy Earth tune to himself and even going so far as semi-dancing to it while going on his way. Backdraft was either totally insane or just not afraid of anything. He was pretty sure by this point that this mech was just a happy-go-lucky nutcase with malfunctioning or missing fear receptors. But then again, with his "occupation" as a stunt biker, it made sense he wouldn't be afraid of much. He'd probably had more than a few scrapes with death, so not much spooked him any more.

"Slow down a bit, would you? 'Bee and CF told us to be careful down here. That 'Con could be anywhere." Sideswipe reminded him.

Backdraft laughed but nonetheless slowed his pace, falling back to the other mech's side. "Aw, c'mon. If that 'Con were here he woulda shown his faceplates by now. If ya ask me – I think he's hidin' from us."

Sideswipe cracked a grin. "Oh, well, we must be pretty fragging scary then, huh?"

Both mechs growled playfully into the darkness, brandishing their weapons before cracking up into bawling laughter. There was nothing to be scared of down here. It was just one lone 'Con who was hiding in the shadows, vastly outnumbered. They'd win this fight, no doubt about it. If he got so much as twenty feet from them, the Altihexian would cook him alive while Sideswipe wailed on him with his blade. Then they came to a much larger tunnel than spilled out into a large underground area. Stony columns held up the ceiling, and water dripped from above from stalactites. In the center of the cavern were the unconscious forms of Strongarm, Frostbite, Grimlock, and Windstorm, the latter two obviously having been taken unawares and captured, and a strange looking bat-like mech colored black and white clinging on the Dinobot's neck.

When the bat mech's gaze jerked in their direction, they quickly ducked behind cover while a sickening feeling washed over them. They'd plainly seen the glowing stain of Energon on the bat's lip-plates. They were dealing with a siphoner. He was using the captured 'Bots as a food supply, and once they were drained he would simply go and capture more.

[What do we do?] Sideswipe hissed over the fritzing comm. link.

[Dunno. He's keeping them out of it somehow, I just don't know how. Maybe call this in to that mini-con? He might be able to ID him for us.]

[Good idea.]

But before they could send out the message to the mini-con, the bat-former opened his mouth and emitted a high-pitched sonic scream in their direction. In a flash, both young mechs crashed to the floor. Only Backdraft did not emit any sound of fright or terror.

Nightstrike hissed in annoyance. He'd have to deal with this annoying incursion head-on it seemed.

* * *

"Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad." Fix-It rambled nervously. "I've lost the signals of Backdraft and Sideswipe now, too. Oh, what do we do, what do we do?"

Smokescreen, still up atop the cavern's arching maw, tensed on hearing this grim news. It looked like the 'Con was picking them all off one and two at a time. He needed to get in there and do something. He was done sitting and waiting. He was itching for a fight now.

Suddenly, a high-pitched scream issued from the cavern and echoed outwards, splitting the crisp night air like a death knell. Out of the cavern flew a large black and white mechanical bat with baby blue leathery wings. Denny and Russell yelped and sheltered behind a large boulder. The bat screamed again and Fix-It almost dropped his scanner, but with a shaking hand he held it up and followed the bat's path through the sky so the scanner could get a good look at it.

"Match found! Nightstrike – a Decepticon aligned Predacon with a super-sonic cry that stimulates the fear receptors of a Cybertronian processor, often resulting in instant unconsciousness coupled with vivid nightmares. He uses this ability to render victims immobile and drain Energon from their bodies. Oooh dear..." he reported shakily.

At that, Smokescreen stood to full height, whipping out the combat pistol on his hip and training it on the bat. "Hey, bat brain! Over here!"

Nightstrike screamed and flew at the larger blue and yellow mech, uncurling his talons and slashing at him. But instead of his talons making contact he bumbled right through the mech as if he were spirit. The bat pulled up from his dive a mere astrosecond before he would have crashed into the ground. He hissed. Bah. This one was too large for him to drag back either way, and he was exhausted still from lugging that heavy brute of a Dinobot and that femme into the cavern proper. He'd just have to put this one out of his misery. How to do that when he was intangible though? Then he laid optics on the small orange mini-con cowering on the ground. Ah. That one would do. Issuing a hyper-sonic cry at the mini-con, Nightstrike dove down and wrapped his talons around Fix-It's tiny arms, watching as the tiny Cybertronian lapsed into stasis lock with one last little shriek of terror. With that, he flew back into the cavern with his latest prize.

"FIX-IT!" They all cried.

Smokescreen jumped down onto the ground, reverting to vehicle mode in a flash and opening his doors to permit the two humans. "In! Now!"

Neither Denny nor Russell argued, and they jumped in.

"I need you two to lead me around down there. We've gotta save 'em before they're all drained dry! Get me to the the biggest chamber you know is down there! That's probably where he's holding them all! Only place large enough!"

Denny nodded crisply. "Right!"

* * *

Sentenza, Counterforce, and Bumblebee all heard the faint scream from above ground and tensed. All three also plainly heard the loud roar of a high-performance engine, signaling that Smokescreen was on his way down. They jumped when a large mechanical bat swooped by down an adjacent tunnel before vanishing again into the dark depths. In it's claws had been a familiar tiny orange body: Fix-It.

"Follow that bat!" Bumblebee barked, breaking into a frantic sprint. Sentenza and Counterforce bolted after him, worry lending swiftness to their strides.

They followed it all the way to the central chamber where a grim sight was awaiting them - their allies, cocooned and unconscious. They all three stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the horrific sight as though petrified. This was like something straight out of a horror movie. As such, they couldn't attempt to run when the bat mech opened its mouth an unleashed an oil-chilling scream...

Everything around them abruptly went black.

* * *

Smokescreen arrived at the entrance to the central chamber, wisely letting the two humans out to prevent them from becoming trapped inside his vehicle mode if he were knocked out by the "Fear Scream", transforming afterwards. He silently motioned for them to take shelter behind one of the large rocky protrusions from the ground. They nodded and took shelter behind one of the columns and silently observed the blue and yellow mech approach the cocoons and the one who had made them.

"Let. Them. Go. _Now_." he growled, aiming his pistol at Nightstrike. His optics were narrowed to mere slits, a raging blue fire burning in them. His doorwings were lowered aggressively.

He saw Nightstrike falter under his gaze, and it filled him with acute satisfaction. This 'Con was just as cowardly as the rest of his kind. He was distracted further when he heard a cheerful voice speak up:

"Aw, c'mon! Knocking a mech out isn't very nice, buddy! If you wanted a donation all you had ta do was ask, y'know! I'm a regular at the donation center in Altihex! I'm a nice person like that!"

Nightstrike wheeled around in shock. It was Backdraft, amber optics still cheerfully flickering like bright embers in the dark. He did not smell any fear chemicals from him. None at all. But that was not possible. Everyone was afraid of something! To not be afraid was to not be alive! Only the dead knew no fear!

"What?! How are you not afraid? Why are not suffering from night terrors like your comrades?!"

Backdraft smiled at him. "'Cause I ain't got nothin' to be scared of, Nighty Night!"

" _What!?_ But everyone has fears!"

"Sure! No denyin' that old truth! But if you understand your fears you can fight them. You wanna know the best strategy for that? Frackin' laugh at it!" Backdraft finished, demonstrating live his method.

Denny and Russell silently slunk around while the three Cybertronians argued and debated over fear, Backdraft's hysterical laughter ringing through the cavern. The captives were still out cold, but when they started slicing them out of their cocoons with a pocket knife Denny had smuggled along out of habit they began to stir weakly. The stuff was thick on the outside like dry play-dough but once the hard exterior was cut past it became almost gooey on the inside. Both humans motioned wordlessly for the aliens to shut off their audial receptors. That way, they would be immune to the bat's sonic attacks. If they couldn't hear it, it couldn't affect them. For some reason the scream did not affect the human brain. Sure it gave them goosebumps and made the hairs on their necks stand on end but they didn't pass out nor have vivid nightmares.

Nightstrike unfortunately happened to glance their way by chance and saw them freeing Bumblebee. He spread his wings and flew over to them, snapping at them to scare them off. Smokescreen reacted, firing off a few warning shots and allowing them to escape and go about their task. Nightstrike hissed and flew at him. This time his talons connected, ripping open a gouge in his midsection. He nearly drooled at the smell of the fresh, warm Energon that oozed out of the wound. The Elite Guardsmech backed off, one hand on the injury to stem the flow. But the pitter-patter of tiny feet distracted him enough and he once more flew for the humans. He would've snapped the smallest in half had he not scrambled into a tiny tunnel-like nook in the cavern. His hands were not small enough to reach in and grab the native, nor was his snout narrow enough. But he tried. He and the adult were a threat to his fuel source. If they freed his captives he would slowly starve.

"Russell!" Denny cried. He charged the bat with his pocket knife.

Nightstrike abandoned his former quarry in a flash and flew for the adult native. A quick snap and flick of his talon and the pocket knife was sent skittering across the cold stone floor. The man gave a weak laugh and backed away.

"I _really_ don't think it'd be a good idea to go eating a human, buddy. We'd probably give you indigestion." he joked nervously, hands up. Nightstrike drew closer, hissing.

"Leave the humans alone, 'Con. They're no threat to you." Bumblebee half-pleaded, half-demanded, weakened from being drained and suffering mental flashes of his worst fear – disappointing Optimus. The Prime had put his trust in him to get this mission done, and he had miserably failed. Fires burned all around him. Innocents lay dead, human and Autobot. Primus had that nightmare been horrifying...

Nightstrike balked when his prisoners finally broke free of their cocoons. They were unsteady but they were far from berth-ridden. He had not drained enough for their condition to deteriorate significantly. He was outnumbered, outmatched. Could he escape? Doubtful. All of the exits were now guarded. He tensed, preparing to make a break for it. Even if their condition wasn't perfect, he was in a far better state than they were.

"Oh no you don'!"

With a loud whirring, roaring noise the bat mech felt a tremendous gust of wind impact into him from behind, slamming him against the walls of the cavern with the force of a charging Buffaloid. He went as limp as rag doll, optics flickering out as he was sucked into the realm of unconsciousness. Frostbite snarled and plucked him off the ground, hefting him onto his back – but not before paralyzing him to ensure no funny business during the walk back. He did not need to bury his fangs deep. The bat wasn't large enough for that to be truly practical. He merely dipped the tips of his fangs into his chassis, leaving two small puncture marks.

"Nice shot, Windstorm!" Grimlock complimented, clapping the inventor in the back hard enough to make him stagger.

Windstorm smiled feebly through the ache and his general feeling of being drained: "Why thank you, Grimlock. I'm no warrior class mech, but I do have many joors of practice with them. They do come in handy I must say."

Bumblebee and Smokescreen shared a glance and then sighed in relief. They should probably head back now. Their 'Con was down and now the cavern was free of its haunter. The Elite Guardsmech was injured and needed his wounded tended to by a medic, and everyone else was weakened and suffering from varying degrees of stress and shock. Best they get their team home so they could all recover safely. Charity would make sure they did.

"Um...does anyone know the way out?" Strongarm wondered, looking a little disoriented. Grimlock let her lean against him as a support.

Frostbite flicked his tail and trotted off, snout to the floor as he picked up the trail that Smokescreen had inadvertently left on his way down. His scent was fresh, clear, and sharp as a blade, making the Canipid growl softly in pleasure. This was an easy trail to follow. They would be out in no time.

* * *

As soon as the disgruntled, exhausted and still slightly traumatized group of Cybertronians arrived back at the salvage yard, Smokescreen was instantly whisked away by a concerned Charity and an even more concerned Zodiac trailing behind them, keening and crooning at him in equal measure.

Grimlock and Frostbite took the still unconscious, paralyzed Nightstrike to one of the few pods that Windstorm had successfully repaired. In a hiss of cryogenic gases, Nightstrike was safely sealed away. They quickly rejoined the others back in the center of the salvage yard where Denny and Russell also were. They seemed curious as to why machines could suffer from fear and nightmares, and they were asking what the nightmares had been about. Getting fears out in the open was a good way of dispelling them.

Frostbite's fear was apparently of losing his super senses and being tossed into a place that ever-shifted, rendering him perpetually running in circles trying to get out. Strongarm's was quite simply total and complete anarchy which made sense – that was always a law officer's worst fear. Grimlock's was by the far the strangest, being afraid of anything small and seemingly cute. Only on being told what a scraplet was, what it looked like, and what it did did that fear make even the remotest sense. Bumblebee was afraid of failing in his mission to re-capture the convicts and thus disappointing Optimus. Counterforce was afraid for Sentenza, not of her. But he was also afraid of failure – not in the case of the convicts per say but in his line of work. He seemed to want to elaborate further on it but he chose not to. Everyone got the sense he was referring to some case in particular. Sideswipe was afraid of losing his speed. Fix-It was terrified of being considered a burden or useless. And Windstorm was fearful of being given a problem with literally no solution. No one was able to question Smokescreen, Zodiac or Charity due to their absence. Now everyone was staring expectantly at Backdraft.

Backdraft himself shrugged, smiling broadly: "Like I said, not a whole lot I'm scared of. Oh sure, there _are_ a few things, but they're petty little fears – screwing up on a stunt, or not making someone smile or laugh in the course of a day – you know, stuff I don't really have control over. They're silly, so I just laugh at them and they're not scary any more."

"Wait. Are you meaning to tell me that out of _everyone here,_ _you_ are the one who isn't scared of _anything?!_ " Fix-It gawked slack-jawed.

"Your fear computators broken or something, mech?" Grimlock demanded.

Sideswipe laughed while Backdraft chuckled along with him. The stunt biker began humming the same tune he had hummed in the tunnels, bouncing along to it. Denny cracked a grin upon recognizing it: "Why Should I Worry" from the Disney film "Oliver and Company" sung by Billy Joel. Such a song decidedly fit the carefree, jovial stunt biker to the letter. He didn't care about fear. He just cared about living his life. He went with the flow of life and made it fun and enjoyable for himself.

Everyone then turned their attention to Sentenza. When no one built up the courage to ask her, Russell did so instead:

"Sentenza? What was your nightmare about?"

To his surprise and worry the Seeker femme shuddered violently as though about to either have a seizure or be physically sick. Images of the nightmare flashed through her mind – dead, maimed corpses all around her, screams of the dying, the sparks of those she had slain circling her, condemning her. A large undefined shadow loomed in the background, blocking out all light. And Energon. Oh Primus, so much spilled Energon – it coated her hands and wings and dripped down her chestplates. She could see it still.

She took a shuddering intake of air before replying:

"Trust me, Russell. You're better off not knowing."

* * *

 **Author's Note: I decided to make this "episode" a bit darker than the original. In the show it was seen that NightStrike sucks out Energon via little siphon like things built into his hands, but I decided – "Hey, he's a vampire bat, I'll make him act like one too." I've got a rather mature way of writing, so yeah. Also, I totally ship Counterforce and Sentenza in case you haven't figured it out yet. :3**

 ***Note 1: Yeah, Sentenza's fear is unfortunately justified. She's terrified of turning into an emotionless killing machine and feels horribly guilty about the lives she's ended. She does have a sense of morality.**

 ***Note 2: "Why Should I Worry" is** _ **totally**_ **Backdraft's theme song! I thought it'd be cute to have him hum it. :D**


	10. Chapter 10: Even A Demon Has A Spark

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 10**

* * *

With another violent shudder and a mumbled Cybertronian word that seemed to shock the observing mechs and femmes, the emotionally tormented black Seeker spun on her heels and slunk off like a depressed wraith. She didn't even bother to cloak herself. Her lowered wings twitched and her field was laced with glyphs for horror and shame and guilt and self-loathing as she made her way towards the relative safety of her nook outside the walls. She did not want to be anywhere near anyone right now – not with those disturbing, oil-curdling images still flashing in front of her optics.

Why did Primus torture her like this? What had she ever done to deserve this – _any_ of this?! Her whole life was just one tragedy after another with emotional anguish thrown in to the mix seemingly just to make everything even worse than it already was.

She was just about to jump the wall when she distinctly heard the sound of pedes pounding against the ground. Someone was coming towards her in a brisk run. Her wings lowered even further as she emitted a hollow groan of aggravated apathy, but she did not vault over the walls to escape the one approaching, but nor did she turn to look and see who it might be. She knew by sheer instinct.

"Sentenza! Wait!"

Counterforce skidded to a stop about ten paces from her, dual-colored gold and silver optics alight with worry and concern for her, though with her back still turned to him she never saw. His own field gently reached out and tried to mingle with hers, to wordlessly tell her that he wanted to help her, but she abruptly withdrew it into her frame with the finality of a singularity drawing in a star over the event horizon. She made to jump.

"Please." Counterforce pleaded softly, reaching out and laying a hand on her right shoulder. "You don't have to bear this burden by yourself. You have to talk to someone or this fear will drive you into madness. Seekers aren't meant to be alone when they're suffering. Telling someone, letting it all out – that's the first step in the healing process. I don't need to be a medic or psychologist to know that bottling all this up isn't good for you. Just tell me. You've done it before."

She did not turn to face him, but she replied neutrally: "I've already told you. I –"

"No. You haven't. You've told me about _past_ grievances. You haven't told me about this most recent one." His voice became slightly harder, sterner, but it still retained the signature worried compassion she had come to expect in him. "Please. Tell me." He reached out and gently clasped one of her hands in his own.

Inwardly, the Seeker femme sighed. She didn't deserve him. He was too good for her. He was a mech of merciful justice, a bringer of light and unity. She? She was just a murdering demon given a physical shell to live in. All she brought was death and despair and agony. She had to distance herself if she wanted to protect the people she cared about. She had no real friends, and even her vast network of contacts she remained more or less aloof from. How could she ever hope to have him as her own? If he tried to get any closer to her spark he would get hurt. And that was something she couldn't have on her conscience. He did so much for her.

"Counterforce, please." Sentenza rasped, still keeping her back to him. She felt her spark twinge inside her in protest, but she ignored it stubbornly. This was for his own well being. "Go back to the others. Please. Just...just stay away from me. I-I don't want you getting hurt because of me..."

Despite not being able to see him, she sensed he was smiling gently. "I think you know that telling me that is pointless. I'm not leaving you. Try and get rid of me all you want. I'm sticking right by you until you tell me what's bothering you. I'm probably about as stubborn as you."

"I don't want to hurt you..." Sentenza repeated in a mere mumble. She was shivering as though freezing, but Counterforce knew better. Seekers were incredibly easy to read thanks to their inherently social nature. She wasn't cold – she was scared, scared nearly out of her senses. Sentenza was worried sick that she might harm him in the grip of the night code. Even now her optics were not their standard yellow but a pale orange.

"You won't."

"I don't want to..."

" _You won't_."

She turned to look at him then, and he saw all the fear and pain in her bright orange optics. To him they looked like glittering stones of carnelian carved by a razor of anguish, but deep down in the center of them was a small but stubborn little spark of hope and gratitude. Hide it as she might try, he knew she was happy he had stayed and not left her alone. For a moment she stayed there gazing at him with those fearful, pain-filled orange optics. Then he at last got his response when something inside her finally snapped. The orange faded back to yellow and With a small little keening noise she lunged forward, resting her helm on his chestplates while wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace. Counterforce could feel her coolant-laced tears trickling down her cheeks and onto his armor, could feel her whole body trembling from the storm of emotions she was laboring under. He watched the red glow slowly brighten to yellow. He felt her field slowly come back out of hiding, but it was still restrained, showing she was nervous about letting loose completely. It was humbling that she cared so much about his well being, even if it cost her. She was willing to hurt herself, but she wasn't willing to hurt him.

Very gently he returned the embrace, holding her helm and murmuring reassurances as she, piece by stammered, blubbering piece, let out the details of her nightmare to the listening mech held in her arms. Her low keening sobs soon died away along with the tears and the trembling, leaving only her active but forcibly restrained field reminding him that she was still upset, just not as much as before.

Sentenza jolted when she heard faint notes coming from his vocalizer, the same as the notes Charity had hummed to her on the day they had all arrived here, and just like before she didn't recognize it, but oh by the Allspark – it was lovely to listen to, as lovely as the femme medic's voice had been and enriched by his deeper voice. Just like before it seemed to wash away the night code, leaving her feeling strangely free and serene.

"Better?" asked Counterforce, his gaze less worried now and more inquisitive.

She looked up at him, a tiny, grateful smile on her faceplates. "Yeah. Thanks, nightlight."

The Seeker femme extricated herself from his arms, wiping away some of the lingering tears, and made to vault over the walls, but he put his hand back on her shoulder just before she did:

"I'll stay with you if it'll help."

Her red optics widened in disbelief. Glyphs for shock flitted around in her field, accompanied by those for gratitude and admiration. Her wings twitched once as she processed his words. "Y-You would do that? For me? Even after all that...B-But don't you have other things you need to – "

He smiled back at her indulgently, placing a single digit over her mouth to stem the flow of words: "You know I would. And no stammering, please. It doesn't suit the confident, witty femme I've come to know over the cycles. Now, where's this little hidey hole of yours?"

With that, Sentenza vaulted over the walls with Counterforce following right behind her. She led him to her the wrecked pieces of the Alchemor that formed a sort of strange, haphazard tent that was made slightly more spacious due to the shallow crater their impact into the soil had caused. It was definitely a bit aesthetically odd to the golden and silver mech, but to Sentenza it was a place of refuge when night fell. He knew from past experience with her that she wasn't exactly picky when it came to field accommodations. She made do with what she had available.

"Bit small for two." Counterforce observed, casting a sly smile in her direction.

She snorted in amusement, playfully shoved him in the arm, and ducked past him, making herself comfortable in her little nook. The homicide investigator took up a position near the entrance in due course, leaning against the edges of the nook's entrance. On an impulse he let one hand drape into the nook and was happy to feel her cling onto it in return. Thus contented, each allowed themselves to slowly slip into power down.

' _Maybe I don't deserve him._ ' Sentenza thought just before falling under. ' _But slag do I need him_.'

* * *

Smokescreen's abdominal wound was duly tended to by the gentle hands of Charity in the course of less than a quarter of an hour. Fix-It had been more than eager to help her in her task, and had proven himself useful by showing her he could adopt the forms of many different tools, a good many of which had medical uses. In spite of this willing helpfulness she didn't rely solely on the mini-con's aid. She'd brought her medical kit with her – a force of habit of hers.

Zodiac herself seemed bound and determined not to leave her bond-mate's side for any reason, and the Elite Guardsmech himself appeared visibly gladdened by her presence. Throughout the welding procedure the little Avioid remained perched on the medical berth beside him, forcing her tiny helm under one hand and purring when he lightly stroked her helm, knowing that was what she wanted.

After a short while he was released from her care with the warning to abstain from any fancy transforming sequences until the weld line cooled and sealed. Having been in her clinic once before, he knew it was better not to argue with her. Charity, innocent sweet-spark that she was, could be benevolently ruthless if her orders were disobeyed, and Smokescreen sadly knew that from a past experience with her. Sweetest Thing On the Face Of Cybertron. Yeah, if she wasn't busy dragging you by your audials back into her clinic and lecturing you on rash, reckless behavior the whole time. Primus that had been embarrassing, and that wasn't even counting the scolding Magnus had given him after he'd been let out. Smokescreen had been unusually contrite and obedient for the next stellar cycle or so after that.

"C'mon 'Zee. Let's go see how the others are doing."

The little Avioid bobbed her helm in agreement, flew over, and perched herself on his shoulder armor. Charity eyed him suspiciously, but with an almost motherly aura of concern as well. She may be a bit strict, but in a way she was also very lenient in accordance with her gentle spark.

"Alright, alright. Don't worry. I know the routine. I won't strain myself. Midge here'll keep me in line. Won't you, Midge?"

Zodiac keened and bobbed her helm a second time, using her starboard wing diodes to form the cyberglyph that translated to the word "trust." She would keep him out of trouble like she always did, as she kept her promises till the last. Charity appeared satisfied with this vow and bade them leave.

* * *

Russell bounded up to him as he stepped out of Charity's unofficial domain, worry swimming in his eyes as they fell on the weld on his abdominal plates. That looked like it had hurt pretty badly when Nightstrike had gouged him with his talons. It was a good thing that 'Con was now locked away, because he didn't want to see what those claws could do to a human if they could shred Cybertronian armor plating like that. He'd gotten dangerously close to doing so to start with.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, tru – Ow! Hey! Cut it out!" Smokescreen started, only to yelp and protest when Zodiac pecked at his left audial receptor in a rather miffed manner while glaring at him accusingly.

"Apparently someone doesn't think so." Russell teased, grinning. He liked the dynamic between these two. It was a partnership built solely on trust. There was nothing obviously romantic about them. They acted more like close friends, like 'Bee had said. And she apparently wasn't afraid to bite him to get her point across.

Gingerly keeping two digits around the Avioid's sharp beak to keep her from biting him again, he asked: "Where's everyone else?"

Russell glanced around as he mentally took stock of everyone he had seen moving around. He said he'd seen Sideswipe and Backdraft wander off together; Frostbite was roaming around as a lookout and guard with Grimlock; Strongarm was taking stock of prisoners with Bumblebee and reviewing protocol for probably the zillionth time; Windstorm was tinkering with something or other; Counterforce and Sentenza had disappeared outside the walls, the Seeker having looked ready to curl up in a hole and cry herself into oblivion.

On hearing that, both Cybertronians glanced at each other, sympathy and knowing in their respective baby blue and royal blue optics. If anyone could comfort the traumatized Seeker femme it was Counterforce.

"Should we check on them? See if they're okay?" wondered Russell. Sentenza's shuddering and her shaky words still bothered him. Whatever her nightmare had been it had very nearly broken her. He didn't see her as dangerous any more. All he had seen when she'd slunk off had been someone in desperate need of emotional help.

Smokescreen shook his helm: "Nah. Just leave 'em alone. They'll be fine. He's probably just keeping her company until she's out. He'll be back once she's out of it for the night. I think."

But the hours passed and Counterforce did not reappear. However, no one really worried. They instinctively knew he was safe and unharmed.

* * *

Morning came, and still Counterforce did not reappear. Fix-It, growing slightly concerned for the mech, sent out a broad beam pulse to locate his life signal and was relieved to find it sitting perfectly still just outside the salvage yard's walls. Specifically it was located very near the spot where Sentenza's hiding place was, almost overlapping it due to it being so close, but not quite. Despite her signal being obscured by her cloaker, intuition told him she was there. No doubt she was using to keep unwanted attention off her. She needn't be physically cloaked, even – a skilled cloaker could mask only their life signal and not their body.

"Ah, could someone go and retrieve the detective and the investigator? I'm detecting energy anomalies in the vicinity of Crown City. I'm also picking up a Decepticon life signal, but it's very faint – I can't get a good lock on it. I believe reconnaissance is in order, lieutenant. And a few of our new friends expressed a desire to investigate the city further, if my memory swerves – nerves – _serves_." Fix-It inquired over the common frequency.

Out of exasperation the mini-con wonked his helm against his command console. There were some moments when he firmly believed his vocal tic was just there to make his life difficult, and right now was one of those moments.

[I will!] Sideswipe replied instantly.

Grimlock broke out laughing on his end at how eager he had sounded. Strongarm could be heard to snicker once. Frostbite's low, rumbling growl of amusement could be plainly heard as well, which temporarily stunned those listening in. This was the first time any of them had ever heard the Canipid chuckle. Like his howls there was a certain musical quality to it. Then again, it was pretty obvious to anymech with working optics that Sideswipe had a massive crush on Sentenza, and he'd do anything to get her attention.

[What?]

[Oh, nothing.] Strongarm innocently lied, internally laughing. Sideswipe still had yet to pick up on Sentenza's romantic teasing of him, obviously. The Seeker was pretty much dangling a tempting little treat in front of him just out of his reach, knowing full well he would never be able to snatch it. All she was doing was toying with him for fun. It was her way of saying she was out of his league without going up to him and telling him to knock it off. Seekers were a bit catty like that. Sooner or later he'd finally get the message she was sending him, hopefully sooner rather than later.

[I'll come with you.] Bumblebee added in, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

['Kay.]

* * *

Sideswipe and Bumblebee met up near the south wall where they both knew Sentenza's hiding place was located. With twin nods they vaulted over the cement barrier and into the wilderness outside. Ahead of them stood the haphazard, tent-like wreckage where the investigator's signal was originating from. Visible around one side of it was a familiar golden and silver form.

They quietly approached around to the side where the "entrance" was and then stopped in their tracks at what they saw. Sideswipe looked about to squeal from cuteness overload, and only Bumblebee smacking a hand against his mouth kept the sound from ever making its way out. Disturbing these two via embarrassing them just seemed so very, very wrong to him. Right now, they were physical embodiment of the words "adorable" and "sweet."

Counterforce sat leaning with his backstrut against one side of the entrance frame, doorwings limp from being in power down, and his legs stretched out in front of him. One hand was resting against his chestplates, while the other was held by the Seeker half-way concealed within. Sentenza herself appeared to have, whether by conscious choice or somnambulistic accident, re-positioned herself to lying flat on her belly, her helm resting on the mech's leg. Faintly heard coming from her engine was soft purring.

"Primus, where's a camera when you need one?" Bumblebee murmured. Screw kittens and sparklings and puppies! This took cute to a whole other level of downright lethal!

"Can't. Take. The. Cute! Might. Die!" Sideswipe whispered back, sounding like he was being slowly strangled by sheer adorability. He didn't even care right now that Sentenza apparently didn't reciprocate his feelings. He was smart enough to realize just then that she was _way_ out of his league. Granted that wouldn't keep him from trying his hardest to befriend her, but this was just – GAH!

It seemed such a shame to wake them, but they couldn't snooze all day, and out here they were vulnerable to ambushes or being stumbled across by random humans. Not that they couldn't handle themselves, but they were trying to remain hidden while on Earth. But how to wake them without startling them or embarrassing them?

Sideswipe bent down to try and tap at the slumbering Praxian, but Bumblebee forestalled him, shaking his helm in a silent "No." If this mech was startled it might trigger his photon ability and they would both end up temporarily blinded, and if _he_ was startled it might cause Sentenza to lash out instinctively. They had to be polite and careful about this.

The yellow and black mech knelt down and began sending out glyphs for energy and light to the slumbering Praxian. Almost right away, Counterforce's dual-colored optics flickered open, and his field sent out returning glyphs for greeting as he nodded to the the two mechs. Counterforce then turned his attention to the peacefully dozing Sentenza, looking a smidge awkward on seeing her helm resting on his leg, but at the same time smiling softly.

Counterforce put a hand to her helm, murmuring: "Sentenza. Wake up."

She slowly came around, Predacon yellow optics blinking away the light of morning. "Hmm? Wha? Ugh. My helm..."

Then she realized the somewhat compromising position she was in and gave a little embarrassed yelp, pulling away from him in a flash, her expression ever so slightly but plainly mortified. While Cybertronians were not able to blush like humans did, it was clear that if she possessed such an ability she would be bright, cherry red. They were probably thinking, they probably thought – oh Primus. She wished she could just curl up in a hole and die somewhere.

Fortunately they didn't seem to be thinking anything along those lines. Their grins showed they just thought the relationship was cute – nothing more than two close friends reassuring each other with their presences. And that was pretty much what it amounted to so far. It was no more complicated than that.

"Come on, sleeping beauties." Bumblebee joked, helping them up individually. "Fix-It says weird things are going on in Crown City. Also got a 'Con signal, but he can't really get a bead on it. Something's warping the signal, or so he says."

This got their full attention in an instant. A 'Con signal inside the city limits, but no human reports of unusual activity? That was more than a little odd, and it got their sharp intellects whirring away with questions and possibilities. But those questions were best saved for Fix-It, the signal's finder. He would know more about it.

* * *

The first sight that met them was Fix-It, Zodiac, and Windstorm busily working away in the mini-con's command center, holographic displays up and chattering with one another in rapid fire techno-babble as they attempted to isolate the strange 'Con life signal. Such complex science talk was enough to make the Dinobot standing nearby shut off his audials to drown them out. Everyone else was listening attentively, with only Frostbite missing from the group. He was out on another tracking mission in the wilderness.

"Find anything yet?" Bumblebee inquired, approaching.

"Nothing so far, sir. Well, nothing really as definite as we would like." reported Windstorm. "I have tried numerous different variables to attempt to account for the signal warping, but none so far have given any significant answers. But I will say the ones that showed a hint of promise were that the signal is most likely below ground (though not deep enough to conceal it entirely) and nearby electrical sources causing ambient distortion."

"Underground and surrounded by things that zap you." Zodiac clarified. "Doesn't narrow down _exactly_ where we need to search, but it gives us an idea at least."

Bumblebee fell silent as he watched Counterforce's optics flicker in intrigue, his clever processor beginning to work:

"So the 'Con is underground, but not deep enough to totally shield him, equating to perhaps only a dozen or so feet below the surface. Signal warping is also being caused by nearby electrical sources, no doubt numerous and probably spaced out if not very powerful. I think that leaves only one positive match here, even though it does beg a few questions in my mind, like how the scrap he's gone undetected thus far."

"You're thinking he's hiding in the city's subway tunnels?" Bumblebee guessed, catching onto his train of thought in a snap.

Counterforce nodded sharply: "Exactly. That's the only choice that fits with the data."

"Then what're we waitin' for? Let's go find this sucker and pound him!" Grimlock declared, pounding his fists together in anticipation. He'd turned his audials back on once he'd inferred that there was no more processor-glitching science talk going on.

For once, his opinion was shared by many if not all of those present. After their rather humiliating multi-defeat by the siphon NightStrike (even if they had eventually caught him) they were all more than ready to make up for it with a good old fashioned reconnaissance mission followed by a good old fashioned fight. If compared to Nightstrike, this 'Con couldn't be anywhere near as difficult as he had been.

Backdraft and Sideswipe glanced at each other before grinning impishly. With maniacal sounding cackles they transformed and raced full throttle out of the salvage yard's gates, kicking up a storm of swirling dust behind them. Strongarm shook her helm disapprovingly and then motioned for Grimlock to follow her. Everyone else transformed and waited for them by the gates until they arrived at last, the cadet's sturdy vehicle form dragging a flat trailer behind her on which the Dinobot's crouched form was hidden by a large white tarp. Fix-It, taking the hint, hopped into Windstorm's vehicle form.

Only Charity remained at her post, unwilling to leave the two humans unguarded. Zodiac hovered above her, seemingly uncertain of whether or not to accompany the others on their mission.

* _Hey, 'Bee?_ * Smokescreen asked over short band radio.

* _Yeah_?*

* _You think 'Zee could come with us on this one? Call it a hunch, but I think we might need her this time around._ *

* _Well, so long as she stays hidden until we get below ground I don't really see why not. Heck, if she moves fast enough no one'll see her, not to mention she'll beat us all there._ *

"Hey, 'Zee! 'Bee says you can join in this time!" Smokescreen called over to her gleefully.

Zodiac keened happily and zipped over to him, pecking once at his side mirrors in thanks before vanishing in a tiny clap of thunder, the sound echoing out over the bay like a gunshot. The bay's water parted in a small wake that was ramrod straight – the only sure sign that that was the route she had taken. No way could Sideswipe and Backdraft hope to beat her into the city limits.

"Charity? What about you?" wondered Strongarm.

Charity smiled gently, shaking her helm and explaining that medics were well-known home birds. They tended not to stray very far from their comfort zones, and she wasn't going to leave Denny and his son completely unprotected. She also fully understood her own weaknesses of never lying and showing too much kindness to the enemy. If anyone got hurt though, she'd be there on the double. She'd been sent here to act as the team's medic, and that was precisely what she would do.

"Alright, then. Take care."

With that, the squadron of vehicles pulled out and onto the open road.

* * *

 **Author's Note: If anyone's curious as to the song that CF and Charity have been humming to Sentenza, I like to think it's a very old Cybertronian lullaby that sounds very similar to "Skye Boat Song" by Celtic Fiddle Festival. Go find it on YouTube. It's so soothing to listen to, not to mention utterly beautiful.**


	11. Chapter 11: Stolen Speed

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 11**

* * *

Backdraft and Sideswipe had a decent ten minute head start ahead of the others, and they intended to keep it that way. They sped along the open but effectively empty highway that led from the suburbs where the salvage yard was into the bustling Crown City in the distance that was growing ever nearer. Each young mech was easily hitting seventy miles per hour, their respective engines emitting purring roars of unrivaled horsepower as they raced alongside one another. They laughed and reveled at the rush of wind over their frames, the lion-like purrs of their engines, and the Energon pumping through their fuel lines to power those selfsame engines.

It was little innocent, fun-filled moments such as this that made Sideswipe wonder how he had never once managed to come across the Altihexian before now. He was so like him in many ways. He enjoyed practical jokes and even took them to a whole new level of extremely hilarious. He enjoyed the sensation of speed and was a bit of a harmless show-off when it came to his driving style. He was agile, maybe even more so than him thanks to his career as a stunt biker. He was funny and laid back and casual. Strongarm found him annoying. Slag, he saw him as amazing.

The thing that struck a chord in him was Backdraft's lack of fear and his childish playfulness. This crazy mech driving beside him and bantering and laughing with him lived to see others around him smile and laugh just like sparklings did back home on Cybertron. He had a certain kind of strange innocence that one only tended to find in a sparkling, but at the same time he was self-aware enough to realize that the best way to combat your inner fears was to envision them as something utterly silly and simply laugh at them. He just...wasn't scared of anything it seemed.

That kind of conscientiousness wasn't something typically found in a child, but rather in someone with a vast experience of life.

Then a thought struck him. He decided to ask something.

"Hey, BD?" Sideswipe asked.

Backdraft's side mirrors flicked over in his direction as they rounded a bend in the road. Ahead of them the road was more or less a straight shot into the limits of Crown City, though the city itself was still miles ahead of them. His fiery, playful field sent out glyphs for curiosity and humor. While sensing something was lightly troubling the other mech's mind, he inferred it wasn't something serious. Most likely another innocent question about him was about to be asked.

"Yeppers? Somethin' the matter, Sides?"

"That song you were humming in the cave last night. Is there...any way you could, I dunno, teach it to me? It seemed like it worked pretty scrapping well to keep you calm and un-panicky. Do you think it might work for me to? Not that I'm scared or anything. I mean, yeah I'm scared of some things like everybody else, but I get that. I'm just wondering if it'll help, you know, in another situation kinda like that one. If that ever happens again."

The Harley-Davidson's engine rumbled in a chuckle. Well, that wasn't the question he'd been expecting from the other mech. He'd been anticipating something wholly different, something of a more personal nature like his age or how he had arrived at his philosophical opinion about fear and how to manage it or something like that. But asking for song lyrics? There was no way he could have anticipated Sideswipe asking that. It showed him there was even more to the so called "reckless punk" as Strongarm called him than met the optic. He was learning that there was no shame in asking for another's help on a seemingly trivial or perhaps personal matter.

"Sure thing, Sides." Backdraft responded cheerfully. "Here. We'll do it like this: I'll start off the first verse an' the chorus so you can get the beat an' the general notes n' stuff. Then I'mma send you a data packet with the rest of the lyrics, an' you can join in after that. Sound good?"

Sideswipe laughed. "A'ight then Mr. Music Theory. Impress me."

Backdraft accepted the playfully teasing challenge: "Oh, then impress you I will!"

* * *

Zodiac kept high above the ground and amidst the thick, puffy clouds that had coalesced above downtown Crown City. She kept a sharp lookout for any human-operated vehicles in the skies while also simultaneously keeping watch for the colorful forms of her bond-mate and his friends. Soon as one or more of 'em got here the mission would officially start.

Personally she was wondering how in the name of the Allspark they were planning to smuggle Grimlock into the city. It wasn't like the tarp totally covered the burly Dinobot. And what about Sideswipe and Backdraft? Had they learned their lesson about adhering to traffic laws on this planet, which she herself had researched? Or would they ignore said traffic laws and get impounded once again? Did Backdraft even have a holographic rider for use in urbanized areas? Because a motorcycle driving into a heavily populated city without a driver would raise some brow ridges if nothing else slagging did.

She was just letting her mind fly off on tangents to pass the time, and from the occasional amused pulse in her spark she knew that Smokescreen found her bored, abstract theorizing cute and interesting. Her mind was what fascinated him. They both had the talent for asking rather pointed questions about things that confused them. Smokescreen had found her researching of traffic laws to be funny, seeing as she would never have to obey them herself. But he had simply rolled with it in a joking manner knowing that data of any sort was almost sustenance for her. Try and keep her from said data and she would just find another way to get at it.

At last growing bored, she landed atop a skyscraper within a few blocks of the subway tunnel singled out by Fix-It and Windstorm as a viable entrance to use. It was under renovation but the workers were not at their posts, leaving the place free of unwanted, prying eyes. There were still pedestrians and drivers going about their morning commute. She didn't worry about them, though. If she moved fast and timed it right, she could slip in totally unobserved.

' _Just be careful, 'kay? We don't want stories of Mecha Birdzilla or something popping up on conspiracy sites._ '

Okay. What the frag? She wasn't even going to ask for him to clarify _that_ one. Interesting as that explanation might prove to be, she just didn't want to know. Instead she affirmed her intent to remain cautious, sending out a pulse of reassurance to him and outlining her plan of entrance to him. Once certain he knew what she was going to do she let him get back to his own arrival alongside the others, he in turn warning her that his group would be arriving last. Sideswipe and Backdraft would rendezvous with her as soon as they arrived.

 _'Stay safe down there, Midge. Tell me if you find anything._ '

' _M'kay. Guess it's into the Labyrinth I go then!_ '

Smokescreen played along with the mythology reference in good fun: ' _Ha-ha! Hey, you think there might be a Minotaur down there? Will you need a magic clue of string to find your way back out, provided by yours truly in return for a kiss?_ '

'A _h, so I'm the daring young Athenian hero Theseus and you're the beautiful Princess Ariadne of Crete? Hmm. Mmhm. Yes. I can see the similarities. Stunning how I didn't see them before now!_ '

' _Oh! Oh no! You did not just go there! You did not just call me a pretty princess! You take that back, missy!_ '

' _Not a chance. Point for me, dimwatt._ '

A groan came from his end of the bond: ' _Should've seen that one comin' from a mile away. You know Greek mythology way better than I do. I was pretty much asking for that burn, wasn't I?_ '

Emitting a telepathic peal of ringing, boyish laughter the Avioid tucked her wings in tight against her frame and dove for the abandoned subway entrance far below her, timing her nosedive exactly with a sudden but very brief lull in human foot and vehicle traffic to reduce her chance of being spotted even further. She was not one to take unnecessary risks when such risks could be easily worked around. Tempt fate? Not on her life. She was more than happy to leave fate tempting to mechs like Backdraft.

In a quick flashing blur of midnight blue that moved too fast for the human eye to catch she shot into the underground network of artificial tunnels and powered railings.

* * *

Backdraft and Sideswipe made it to the fringes of the city in short order. Turning down a side street, they began to follow the signal being emitted by their 'Con target, being far more careful in their driving styles and speeds than before. Getting impounded would just make this mission harder, and would probably get them in a whole heap of trouble with 'Bee and and his cop friends. One screw up was forgivable to the patrol officer, but twice would be pushing their luck just a tad too far. They were both impish daredevils, but neither were idiots.

During the drive the Altihexian had completed his lyrical lesson and now the red Lamborghini was happily humming the lively tune in his helm. His voice wasn't nearly as tone-trained as the stunt biker's own voice had been – which had honestly taken him by complete surprise – but he thought it was at least bearable. When he had combined it with Backdraft's own the ensuing comm. link duet had been startlingly good, their voices harmonizing very well.

Taking a sharp turn, both mechs took a sharp turn down another street that, according to their navigation systems, would eventually intersect with the lone subway entrance under renovation that Zodiac had used to gain entry into the underground network of man-made tunnels. They were not going through that specific means of entrance though; rather they would be employing an old storm drain pipe tunnel as there was less risk of them being spotted using this "back door" into the city's subways. But finding the Avioid might prove a bit of a task thanks to how extensive the subway tunnel network was and the fact that signal warping was playing in. However they took it for granted that Zodiac would not get lost. If hunches were worth anything, both believed it would be _she_ who found _them_ – not the other way around. After all, when it came to navigation there was no one better. Zodiac was a living compass in terms of navigation, at least according to her bond-mate. It was virtually impossible for her to get lost.

They both slipped into the storm drain tunnel and emerged into the dim, stony interior. Water swished beneath their pedes in a shallow, dank-smelling river barely a inch deep. It reminded Sideswipe all too much of his team's first encounter with Clampdown in the storm drain tunnels near the Bay. Were they dealing with another 'Con like that? Maybe a black market dealer or something like that – someone who didn't do business out in the open? Or perhaps was their chosen life style even more sinister than that?

"Keep your optics on the swivel." advised Backdraft. "I'm not likin' the looks o' this place. Too spooky for my tastes."

"Yeah. But the subway tunnel is just ahead. C'mon. Faster we get there the faster we meet up with little miss zippy."

Emboldened, the two young mechs drove ahead at a fairly rapid pace until they finally emerged into the subway network proper. These tunnels looked far more hospitable and were well maintained. Their pale grey walls were made of smooth concrete and occasionally accented with carved stone. Black metal rails ran along the floors, providing pre-set paths for the trains to run along. Walkways ran parallel to the tunnel's edges and were most likely employed by workers or the chance pedestrian. They looked rather like the underground roadways on Cybertron, just smaller to accommodate the smaller users.

"So, you got zippy's comm. frequency or are we gonna have to shout bloody murder till she hears us?" Backdraft wondered after a moment or two of amiable silence.

"Dude, she _bit me_ the first day we met. _Bit. Me._ You really think she likes me enough to hand out her number to me? Pfft. As if. Nah. We'll just drive around till we pick up her signal or until she finds ours." answered Sideswipe. Then he grinned as an idea came to him. "Let's make it a race! First one to find her wins!"

Backdraft grinned maniacally back at him, entering the spirit of the challenge with the good-natured bonhomie Sideswipe had come to expect from him: "Alright then! Bring it, Sides! Game on!"

Ringing laughter mingled with the roars of engines echoed down the tunnels as the two rambunctious young mechs split off to cover more ground.

* * *

Sideswipe shot ahead down his particular tunnel route, pushing his accelerator down to the lowest it could possibly go. His speed and agility were what made him valuable to the team in the past, and it was probably the main reason that 'Bee put up with him as much as he did. He was annoying and rather childish in the mech's optics, and there were days that his patience with him threatened to snap, but he was in fact a part of the team. He was the resident speed fighter, and as such he had to stay up to par.

With the equally fast and agile Backdraft and the speed-gifted Zodiac, he felt he had a skill deficit to fill. He knew he couldn't outpace the Avioid – no way in the Pit could anyone accomplish _that_ impossible feat – but at least he could stay ahead of the amiable stunt biker. Backdraft had a more laid-back view of life than he did despite his openly eager competitiveness, so he assumed the other mech wouldn't actively be trying to win. All Backdraft would do would be to keep an optic out for anything suspicious, all while enjoying himself to the fullest. As Jazz would've said, Backdraft would just "do what he did" and would win out in the end in one way or another. Just like Sideswipe himself did. They each had their own unique ways of accomplishing goals, but those goals did end up being accomplished eventually.

In their minds, if one had a goal, no matter if it was long-term or short-term – why not make the tasks revolving around the goal fun?

[Anything?] Sideswipe demanded. He roared down another tunnel in a squealing of tires.

[Nadda. Well, sorta. I've got her signal, but the electricity down here is screwing around with it. All I can tell for sure is that she's not usin' her speed ability to get around down here. Her signal would be flittin' all over the place if she were. Still goin' pretty fast though. Prob'ly flying. Keep your optics peeled. That 'Con's is down here too. I can almost feel 'im. If that creep gets his claws on her...]

Sideswipe shuddered, fuel tanks churning unpleasantly. Well he knew how some 'Cons treated femmes. He'd heard some of the reports, and through some friends of his. They weren't pretty. Immature as he may be, he still held the femmes in high respect, even Strongarm. He only teased her because he knew she'd react every single time without fail.

[Won't happen. Zippy's smart. No way she'll let herself get caught.]

[Yeah. You're prob'ly right.] admitted Backdraft. [We're the dunces here, mech. I'll bet you a cube of smuggled high grade that one of is gonna be the one captured.]

[Okay, wow. First off – you brought some high grade with you? Gimme! Second – you are such a downer. Should I feel mega insulted that you think so little of our combined awesomeness? We're the fastest things on wheels on this planet, Flame-Brain! You really think a 'Con is gonna catch us?]

[...We got caught by the cops.]

[That doesn't count! If we'd tried to drive away then we would've given ourselves away!]

[But what about Nightstrike?]

Silence on the other end. Then: [...Touche, BD. Point taken.]

* * *

Bumblebee and Smokescreen's group were drawing fairly close to the outer fringes of Crown City, in the lead of the small convoy behind them.

Strongarm was busily engaged in animated conversation with Counterforce, regaling him of the many locations and organizations within the city that he had not known of or encountered previously. He listened all the while with the politeness of a gentlemech and would occasionally interject questions for her to answer. It kept the cadet's attention less focused on the massive Dinobot hidden on her flat-bed trailer and more focused on the road ahead. Windstorm and Fix-It were busily chattering at each other in fast paced techno-babble concerning their destination and the Decepticon they needed to apprehend. To say that very few of their words were understood by the others was perhaps giving them too much credit. It was as if they were speaking a foreign language that only they could comprehend.

Above them all flew a cloaked Sentenza. She silently listened in on the various conversations curiously, but at the same time abstractedly. Her mind was more focused on the golden and silver Lexus beneath her. More than once she joined in merely to comment on something in a distracted yet light, playful manner. Bright as it may be out, she was oddly somber today. Unknown to her, this worried the selfsame golden and silver Lexus. He suspected this was due to lingering effects of Nightstrike's terror-inducing scream. It might take a while for those effects to wear off, and he suspected that even then they might not go away entirely.

[Hey, 'Bee! Maybe you should just leave these recon missions to me and Backdraft!] Sideswipe suggested teasingly.

[Pfft. Uh, don't you mean me? I've covered more ground than you boys have combined.] Zodiac's boyish voice retorted back. [Face it. You've been outmatched. By. A. Femme. Oh! What now! Raise da roof!]

Strongarm sniggered quietly, appreciating the massive burn the Avioid had accomplished against the two mechs, however she sensed it was mainly targeted at the overconfident Sideswipe. Smokescreen hadn't been joking when he had said Zodiac's personality around those she trusted underwent an almost insane change. She was surprisingly sassy, and even a bit childishly silly. For an astronomer with a high intelligence and an instinctive fear of people this was a bit of a surprise.

[I think Zodiac takes the victory here, Sideswipe. Not that I'm surprised. She actually knows how to take a mission seriously, unlike some mechs I could name.] said Strongarm smugly.

Sideswipe wasn't fazed. ['Bee, could you please remind the cadet that –]

"That this is a mission, not a race? Happy to remind all four of you." Bumblebee replied back with the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. Like the cadet, he appreciated the hawk-former's burn. That little introvert had quite the bite.

He found Zodiac's more open attitude to be a very good sign. She was starting to come out of her diamond-hard shell of introversion and interact with everyone else in the same sarcastic, playful, teasing manner Smokescreen had described many times. That she was sassing _Sideswipe_ of all mechs, whom it was clear she still despised to a certain degree for his pointed insult on the first day regarding her talents and abilities, and before now was effectively the lord of sass himself, was even more encouraging. If anyone could sass that mech into place, she could and then some. Poor Sideswipe would be begging for a truce by the time this whole shemozzle was sorted out. When it came to sass wars with Smokescreen, Zodiac was downright merciless. She took no prisoners. She whittled the opposition down until there was virtually nothing left.

[Femme, if I were speed-gifted I'd run you into the slagging ground!]

Zodiac laughed: [Ha! Joke's on you, idiot! I can fly!]

[Dude, just back off before you turn that first degree burn into a third degree one.] Backdraft advised casually. [You're _not_ gonna win this. Just back down and admit defeat like a mech.]

[Y'know, I hate to be _that guy_ , but I'm sidin' with Backdraft on this one. That femme's gonna tear you apart, Sides! Just give in and save yourself the embarrassment.] Grimlock argued lightly.

[ _Never!_ ]

Smokescreen laughed hysterically "Your funeral, then!" while Bumblebee emitted a faint, hollow groan of aggravation. He just wanted to get into the subways and get everyone mission oriented before the bantering got seriously out of hand. It was not helping that his friend was participating in said bantering and indirectly egging the sass war on as such when he really should have been calling it off. That sort of behavior was not exactly befitting of a lieutenant to the Elite Guard, at least in his mind.

How he wished Optimus were here right now. He'd get them to behave with just one slagging word. Bumblebee on the other hand would have needed to speak an entire essay to get them knock it off, and even then there was the chance they'd just keep going, unheeding of him. That would be just his luck he thought. Why did he always seem to get the short end of the stick?

"Just stay focused for, like, I dunno five minutes or something. Please. We're almost there."

[Ha!] Zodiac laughed impishly. [You kidding me? I'm gonna be done way before –]

She never finished her sentence. There was a cry of pain and alarm from the Avioid's vocalizer that was then abruptly cut off. It was as if a sonic blade had simply met the little sound midway and then sliced it right out of existence. Smokescreen let out a startled noise at a sharp sensation of fear in his spark that quickly evolved into a panicked cry of:

" _Zodiac?! Zodiac!_ "

No reply ever came, not from the comm. link, nor from her synchronized life force. It had just been that one sound of pain and fear, and then...nothing. Needing no further encouragement, the convoy slammed on their accelerators and raced into the city. Zodiac had been attacked. Their 'Con had finally made his move. They needed to get into the subways and find her before something horrible happened to her. If they lost Zodiac there was the looming and very real risk of losing Smokescreen as well.

* * *

 _Dull aches. Strange noises. Dim, flickering lights. The peculiar surging sound of electrical currents. Sounds of movement close at hand. Chains clinked as the source of the movement brushed passed them._

Her optics opened slowly, reluctantly, and with a decent amount of dull pain. The world around her was still fuzzy and frankly not all that stable or steady, but it was coming into focus at what she, at least, thought was an agreeable rate. She let out a small groan of pain. She felt like she'd been whacked in the helm with an oncoming train – it ached badly. No doubt she had a dent there that would need mending.

When her surroundings finally came into focus she stiffened, in turn discovering her limbs were restrained by flickering energy bands. She was in an underground chamber lit by jury-rigged ceiling and floor lights that, while not exactly pretty, did their intended jobs of providing illumination. All around her were various scientific objects such as massive fluid-filled tubes and other such items, and sitting on various flat surfaces and tables were surgical instruments. It looked rather like a horrific, grotesque medical lab made by a scrounger.

In the flickering shadows she caught movement. Whatever it was it was tall and moved in a strange, fluid sort of way, swaying side-to-side slightly as it slithered about in the darkness. A strand of memory data flitted about in her mind, forming into a realization. A snake, that's what it moved like. It moved around like a serpent on Earth would. That might also explain the bizarre silhouette she had observed. This was a Serpentine, a mech who had the bipedal appearance of a serpent. They were not Predacons per say, being more akin to mechs like Steeljaw – while they had animal-like qualities, they could still adopt vehicular alternative modes.

Her suspicion was confirmed when the Serpentine slithered out into the light, revealing a tall and snake-like mech with dark copper dorsal plating and pale gold belly plates. Four thin, rather silly looking arms protruded out of his upper chest. Yellow optics appraised her as a dispassionate scientist would an interesting specimen. It was very unsettling. He slithered closer. She hissed a warning at him through clenched denta, but he only continued to examine her in that same detached manner. A snarl and a colorful swear proved just as fruitless. She squirmed uneasily as he ran a single digit over her wings and bound arms.

"My, my, my. Such beauty and grace! The Creator certainly knew what he was doing when he forged you, little femme. Never before have I encountered such elegance in a beast. And that velocity cascader you have? Quite remarkable, but then all those gifted with speed are intriguing, especially since there are so few. I find that such a pity. It is such a useful talent." His voice was a bit high pitched and screechy sounding.

Her mind began to race as possibilities and possible methods of escape whirled around inside. She needed to get out of here. His words, in conjunction with her surroundings, had bred some disturbing implications in her subconscious. What was even more alarming was that she seemed to be telepathically cut off from her bond-mate thanks to the energy band across her chest and her helm. The logical part of her processor admitted such a feat was possible, as there were ways of interfering with spark frequencies, but the emotional part was beginning to scream in panic at this artificial severing. Of all the times to be utterly alone...

He smiled slyly: "Ah, yes. My equipment did detect you were part of a bonded pair, so I compensated. I can't have your dear one interrupting my experiments now, can I?"

"Who the frack are you and what do you want with me?" snapped Zodiac. Escaping may be a bit of a stretch, but maybe she could stall him for a time, perhaps get some information while she was at it.

"I'm surprised that a scientist such as yourself, and especially of your caliber, doesn't recognize a fellow appreciator of research and knowledge. I feel a bit insulted, frankly. I wonder – could it be solely because of my political standing? I admit, that is rather a petty reason for ignoring a scientist, his discoveries, and his work. All scientific works should be shared among the scientific community, especially if it betters society or the individual."

She replied dryly: "I tend not to get out much. And yeah, I don't consort with 'Cons. They tend to have broken ethical beliefs."

The Serpentine laughed: a high pitched, maniacal laugh that to her was borderline insane. It made her shiver. "Ah! I see. You would much rather be shut away with your work, I assume? Me, I am not so very different from you. You are a studier of the vast cosmos and I am studier of the complexities of the body. Might I say that your name is quite suiting of you, Zodiac. And the diodes? Quite a poetic final touch! But as for _my_ name – I am Vertebreak. Apt, yes?" He laughed again.

Alright. Information at last. Vertebreak was evidently a surgeon of some variety, and obviously not one who fell into the "good" end of the medical morality spectrum. He wouldn't have been on the Alchemor if he had been a morally or ethically upright one. He was guilty of something relating to surgery, but what that crime was she still had yet to find out. As she had told him, she didn't get out much or really pay attention to research activity outside of her specific field, especially 'Con research. If this underground lab said anything, it hinted that his crime wasn't exactly pretty by any means.

He brought up what she assumed was a interior analyzer scanner and ran it over her frame a few times, letting the beam take its readings of her internal workings. He appeared to be focusing on her midsection where her velocity cascader was – the special device that allowed her to move with near lightning speed. He drew back on getting the data he wanted, slithering over to one of the equipment covered tables, selecting a few of them plus an injector of pale orange fluid that she knew was anesthetic. That surprised her. 'Cons typically delighted in the physical pain of others, yet here Vertebreak was, kindly putting her out before removing what he wanted.

Ethically colorblind perhaps, but he did seem to retain his medical training.

He approached again, sticking the injector into her upper arm quickly. Almost instantly the world started to swim and become fuzzy. Then, despite her resistance, it eventually went dark.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Vertebreak is not hijacking Zodiac's body. All he is interested in is her velocity cascader. Just to clarify. :)**


	12. Chapter 12: An Unwilling Test Subject

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 12**

* * *

"Step on it, Sides! We gotta find her, pronto!"

Backdraft's voice rang out into the tunnels as he shouted into his comm. link in a panic to the red mech on the other end of the line. They were both on the spot and could begin searching for traces of the femme before 'Bee and the others arrived. That way they might have clues and evidence to offer and hasten their search for the little Avioid astronomer.

[You got it!] replied Sideswipe. A moment later the sounds of his engine could heard over the line. They both silently decided it was best to keep their lines open in case one or the other met with trouble or discovered something of use before the other arrived.

At that the Altihexian reverted back to his vehicle disguise faster than he ever had before. In a thundering roar of his engine he shot off down the tunnel. He had on his scanners the last place the little femme's signal had been, and he was heading for it, clipping corners into other tunnels and rocketing down them in a flamboyant blur. Wisps of flame shot out of his powerful exhaust pipes as he pushed his accelerator to its limit. He liked Zodiac, and he liked the Elite Guardsmech, and he would never forgive himself if he let her get hurt.

He sent out a set of coordinates to Sideswipe just to be certain he knew where to start searching: [Rendezvous here, Sides! Got it? Fast as you can! I'll meet you there!]

[Got it! On my way!]

Primus, how had they been so inattentive as to let this happen? How could they have been so utterly careless? Their task had been to protect the little hawk-former while she was down here in the tunnels, to provide her support should she need it. It had been their mission to assist her in their shared reconnaissance mission, to help her locate the 'Con hiding in these selfsame subway tunnels that mere moments ago had seemed so very safe and nonthreatening.

And they had failed that task miserably.

* * *

Sideswipe barreled down the crisscrossing spider's web of subway tunnels as fast as his vehicle form would permit, pushing his limits as panic and worry pounded within his spark and surged into his body, lending speed to his wheels and added power to his engine. He kept his focus locked onto the scanner on his dashboard. On it was the signal echo of the little Avioid's life force, the residual traces of energy that had suffused the air around her before it had abruptly vanished into thin air. While not a spiritual mech by any means, he nonetheless sent up a quick prayer to whoever might be listening that Zodiac was still alive and unharmed. Unsurprisingly, he did not receive a reply.

On hearing the loud clattering of a subway coming down the tracks, he ducked into a recess to let the vehicle pass by before continuing onwards with no less alacrity. He was getting fairly close now, and Backdraft's own signal was rapidly drawing nearer and nearer. It looked like they would both arrive on the scene together, which was a relief to him. Arriving to the rendezvous location in unison would prevent this 'Con from ambushing them successfully and gaining yet another unwary victim to add to his checklist.

He sped onwards, his engine growling and spark racing as Energon was pumped into his motor relays and axles. This heightened responsiveness of his body was analogous to a human suffering an adrenaline rush in any given dangerous situation. His systems were on high alert and ready to jump into overdrive on a moment's notice. He believed that no one could get the drop on him while in this state. He was ready for them. If they tried to sneak up on him, he would hear the sounds of their pedefalls, would detect their electromagnetic field. All of this he assumed, and he believed them.

That assumption would in very short time be proven wrong. Very, very wrong.

He rounded a bend into a subway terminal where the Avioid's life signal had last been detected, listening for the sounds of any train approaching. From the sounds of things the train was fairly far off and would not arrive at his location for a while. It may even take a turn and not come down this particular tunnel. He didn't know. He briefly debated pulling up the train schedules to find out for sure, but decided against it in the end. Doing so might be helpful, but it would eat up precious time. He needed to get to Backdraft, and fast. Web surfing could wait.

Sideswipe arrived at the scene of the femme's disappearance ahead of Backdraft by a relatively short span, the latter's life signal rocketing towards him like a wild bolt of lightning. He kept his gaze on the end of the tunnel the stunt biker would come from, his optics flicking about warily in search of suspicious movement. The only movement he caught right away was a small, furry little rodent creature with a skinny tail dart down a storm drain on the sides of the tracks, squeaking as it went. The faint blaring of a subway horn reverberated through the tunnel network. Other than that there was nothing – no other sound, no other movement.

Then he heard something else. It sounded like a faint clap of thunder and a sudden roaring of wind. He whipped around to try and figure out where it came from...

 _WHAM!_

Something rammed into him with such force that he was sent crashing into the wall half a dozen paces behind him. His vision blurred from the impact jarring his optics, but before they went dim he was just able to make out a bizarre coppery-gold colored, snake-like figure looming over him, then begin to lean towards him with his too many spindly arms...

* * *

Backdraft just caught the fading sound of the impact as he rounded a corner into the same subway terminal Sideswipe had agreed to meet him at. Sideswipe's signal then disappeared from his scanners. It was as if he had simply vanished off the face of the planet. There was signal echo, no trace energy, nothing. He knew then. He knew that Sideswipe would not be there. The 'Con had struck once again, and once again gained another victim. But the Altihexian was nothing if not practical. Some called him mad due to his attitude, his seeming recklessness, and his daredevil behavior, but he was as sane as anyone else.

So rather than drive down into the terminal tunnel, which he knew as a waiting, baited trap, he kicked into reverse and shot off in the direction he'd come from. He would be of no help in the rescue if he got himself caught. He wasn't running. He wasn't scared, at least not for himself. He was going to get help, and he was going to make sure this 'Con didn't get another victim out of him. He felt that he was personally responsible for the disappearances of Sideswipe and Zodiac thanks to his lack of attentiveness, and as such he felt that doing this would pay back for his perceived mistake.

Primus forgive him, but he hadn't thought anything would happen, especially not so fast. He hadn't been suspicious enough, had been too comfortable. Now two 'Bots had paid the price for this inattentiveness and were in the clutches of an unknown Decepticon prisoner who was doing Primus knew what to them. He felt partly responsible, and so very guilty. Knowing the others, they had probably seen the Lamborghini's signal vanish and would soon assail him with questions either by wireless or when they arrived person; scrap, maybe both. He would do his best to answer them when they did come.

He had pretty much gotten them in this mess in the first place. He had egged Sideswipe and Zodiac on in the recon game. He saw it as his responsibility to help get them out of it.

' _Primus forgive me..._ '

* * *

Backdraft arrived at one of the subway entrances that the others had said they would be arriving at shortly. It was towards the edges of downtown and thus safer to enter by, there being a lowered risk of them being spotted by random passerby. Idly he began to pace back and forth and mull over what little evidence he had observed in the terminal. He wanted to be sure he had the facts down exactly so Counterforce could get to work as soon as he arrived. If anyone could find them, he could. This was the mech's job as an officer of the law, and he was famed all across Cybertron for solving cold cases.

Slagging Pit was he grateful the Praxian was here. He wasn't a huge fan of cops, but frag did he like this one.

He didn't have to wait long for them, which he felt was a blessing and a relief. Waiting would've driven him mad, not so much from acute worry but bubbling impatience. Backdraft was practical and level-headed in a time of crisis, but he wasn't exactly the most patient mech ever built. He was always active, never idle. He had to be doing something or he would lose his sanity within the hour. That was just the way his processor worked. He had to be doing _something_.

It was that trait that had led him to so many varied hobbies – that of music for example. And while he would never admit this aloud to anyone save maybe Sideswipe or Charity, he was also a skilled conceptual architect. More than once he had offered a bit of friendly advice to a random foremech he had come across while driving around Altihex, and they had accepted such advice with surprise and gratitude. That was how he'd developed a sort of... _understanding_ between the construction teams. If he wasn't causing any harm, they would not report his silly stunt antics to the patrollers. It was a mutual contract of respect. He helped them with their work, and they let him run around and goof off to his spark's content to keep others around him smiling and laughing. All who knew him knew that making others happy was what the young stunt biker lived for. It was his purpose.

He stopped pacing when he heard the tell-tale roars of multiple powerful engines. A group of colorful vehicles accompanied by a burly Dinobot rapidly approached him from farther down the tunnel, their fields detectable even at this distance and laced with glyphs for concern and alarm. The blue and yellow Lotus Evora form of Smokescreen looked panicked beyond description (though how a car could look panicked was a question for a later time). That was understandable, expected. His bondie was one of the missing. He was frightened he might lose her.

But he was not expecting the mech to practically fly at him, hands in vice grips over his shoulders.

"Where?! Where is she?!"

Counterforce stepped in before things got out of hand. All it took for him to calm the panicked mech down was a steadying hand on his shoulder and a few transmitted glyphs for hope and comfort, along with a faint smile and a nod of his head that silently told him they _would_ find her – they would, but panicking would do nothing to help. And just like that Smokescreen's panic subsided into mild but controlled anxiety. Bumblebee personally wondered at this strange talent of his. It was all too reminiscent of Optimus's own talent of soothing an agitated squad mate. Of course, he'd read a spare few reports from Praxus regaling the mech's abilities around frightened or reluctant witnesses, but to see it first-hand...Mentally he shook his helm in wonder. His ability was nothing short of astounding. The Prime had made a smart choice sending him. He was, in effect, standing in for him as a sort of substitute.

"Now, let's get to the scene and see what we can find. Backdraft?"

Backdraft nodded mutely and gestured for the others to follow him. Everyone took note of the subtle glyphs for guilt lacing his field as he listed in vivid clarity what little evidence he'd seen at the terminal before he'd kicked into reverse and fled the scene.

Grimlock appeared stunned. After seeing him in the caverns, Backdraft running from anything for any reason was just plain crazy. "You ran?"

The smaller mech looked up at him through unusually somber amber optics: "I ran to get help and report in to you guys. If I'd stayed to look 'round on my own I wouldn't be here telling you this. That 'Con prob'ly woulda grabbed me too. That terminal's a baited trap. Send a single mech or femme in there and he knocks 'em out and takes 'em to his lair, wherever the scrap that is."

"You didn't see anything out of place when driving around down here earlier?" asked Bumblebee.

"Nope. Then again, he's gonna be trying to stay hidden. It's not like his place is gonna have neon lights over the entrance and a sign saying "No Trespassing!" Backdraft snorted derisively. "That's wishful thinkin' is what that is." He sighed then, helm hanging and fists clenching. "If I'd been more careful, paid more attention..."

Strongarm had never seen him so down before, or so self-critical. It was...odd she admitted to herself. It was like all the liveliness had been sucked out of him. He was certainly taking this hard. Maybe she wasn't giving him the credit he was due. He did have a sense of responsibility, and it was both refreshing and a little peculiar. He seemed to be taking this harder than he really should – unusual considering his care-free, happy-go-lucky nature.

"Backdraft, no one blames you." Sentenza said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I think the fact that you turned a boring recon mission into a game is pretty admirable."

"You do?"

The black Seeker femme grinned at him, lightly elbowing him in the side. "'Course I do. Now stop that sulking before you turn into me on a bad night. Sulking's my job, remember?"

* * *

Zodiac awoke from the operation feeling none the worse for wear, if a bit light in the helm, but still she was restrained to the exam slab and still she could not feel the presence of her bond-mate. The anesthesia had actually provided a relief from the rising panic at such a disconnection, and now that she was awake it was beginning to come back once again more powerful than ever.

She turned her helm on hearing a sound and was alarmed to see Sideswipe restrained to a second exam slab not too far from her. Vertebreak loomed over him with a scanner, laser beams dancing over the mech's faceplates and neck cables. Rather than feel the usual surge of indignation she felt whenever she saw him, she instead felt thankful that he appeared unharmed. Then she felt self-loathing for even considering indignation when he was helpless and at Vertebreak's mercy, and then she felt self-reproval for feeling the previous self-loathing.

"Sideswipe?"

The red mech's help jerked in the direction of her voice: "Zodiac?"

Vertebreak clicked disapprovingly: "Don't move, please. You'll interfere with the scans!"

"Pfft. Then I'll move as much as I slagging well want!" Sideswipe instantly began to struggle against his restraints.

Zodiac smirked at this. Maybe she'd been a teensy bit too harsh on him before. This mech had a decent helm on his shoulders, as he was obviously trying to stall for time and come up with a means of escape just as she had. Unfortunately she knew this plan of action was a veritable dead end, having attempted it herself with next to no results aside from intelligence gathering. Vertebreak's restraints were sturdy and not prone to breaking or shattering for any reason. He intended to keep them there.

What exactly did the Serpentine surgeon want with Sideswipe though? He didn't have any special components in him like she did. No velocity cascader, no cloaking circuits, no photon absorption panels or photon dischargers, he didn't even have a special weapon like flamethrowers or wind cannons. The only weapon he possessed was a simple but functional longsword. So what was Vertebreak even scanning him for, and his helm and neck regions no less? What was he intending to do the red mech?

She got her answer in a faintly disturbing form. Vertebreak continued scanning him, but now such action was interspersed with compliments to his speed and agility. To say this was ever so slightly unnerving would be an understatement. It was utterly bizarre hearing a Decepticon complimenting an Autobot, even going so far as to say that such physical attributes should be what every Autobot should strive for. It made her squirm as possibilities began to form inside her processor – dark possibilities. Vertebreak was showing _far_ too much interest in how Sideswipe's helm was attached to his shoulders, and his main and minor neck cabling, and that could only mean one thing:

He was going to remove it.

She could only watch in undisguised horror as the Serpentine's too many spindly arms reached for numerous surgical tools on a nearby table. She could only watch, helpless to stop it, as the boisterous red mech was put under by a dose of anesthetic, and the removal process began...

* * *

Bumblebee and Smokescreen walked stride for stride in the front of the group. Never had the yellow and black mech seen his friend so nervy before. He was constantly wringing his hands, optics flicking around ceaselessly as he tried in vain to locate his bond-mate through the special connection they shared. Every few seconds his doorwings would twitch anxiously. His field as flooded by glyphs for worry and alarm and concern and every emotion in between. It was almost alien to see the normally confident Elite Guardsmech so...uncertain and, well, _scared_.

He had known the two were incredibly close, but he would never have guessed _this_ close. It was as though Zodiac's natural anxiety had transferred over to him, and in all probability it had, thanks to the bond they had formed. It was just emotions that were shared between bond-mates – personality was, too. But...seeing him like this was just so very unnatural.

"You can't sense her at all?" asked Bumblebee softly, optics flicking back to ensure no one could overheard. They were all already worried; he didn't need them panicking.

Smokescreen silently shook his helm, electing not to say anything back. He was trying, trying, trying as hard as he could to locate some little sign of her through the bond, only to come up with utter silence on her end of it. His spark was calling out to hers in a blind panic, but hers was not answering back. That frightened him. The utter silence was not normal. He was so used to being able to feel her, sense her. To feel and sense absolutely nothing...he didn't like it. However, deep down, he knew she wasn't offline, and that was some small consolation to him. If she _had_ been terminated, he would have already keeled over by now, stone dead. No, she was still alive. But why couldn't he sense her?

He put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll find her. I promise."

Smokescreen's gaze was rather somber when he replied: "Don't make promises you can't keep, 'Bee. If I can't sense her, how are we ever gonna find her?"

Then he and Fix-It let out twin gasps, one from utter relief at the sudden influx of sensation and emotion that signaled the bond was now re-established, and the other from excitement and more than a bit of confusion as his hand-held scanning device picked up a familiar signal headed towards them. It had suddenly popped back into existence as if by magic, and it was headed straight form them as though it were possessed.

"Zodiac!"

But there was one odd thing: Zodiac appeared to be being chased by...Sideswipe? And why was there a second Sideswipe signal? Was it a signal echo or something like that? Or was something even stranger going on down here?

* * *

"Get back here, femme!"

"Just try and catch me, freakshow!"

Zodiac silently thanked her lucky stars that some semblance of her former speed still remained with her. She flew down the subway tunnel at about a hundred miles per hour (going by this nation's system of distances and measurements that she had found and downloaded) with Vertebreak screaming along behind her. She also thanked her lucky stars that he didn't quite know how to use it just yet, and that he was still adjusting to having his head on Sideswipe's frame – which by the way was incredibly disturbing (Sideswipe's helm was still back in the surgeon's lair, and she had sworn to herself to go back for him) and frankly disgusting. She had never really liked doctors, but transplant surgeons? Yeck. Astronomy was far more preferable to her.

Luckily Vertebreak, despite his intellectual prowess, didn't seem to understand how the cascader worked, or that it could only be used in short bursts to prevent wear and tear on the mechanism and all related components. He would occasionally slash at her with the mech's sword, her agility being the only thing that kept him from slicing her in half, using the cascader to speed up his strikes. The idiot didn't realize it had been designed for someone her size, and strain would definitely come into the equation fairly soon if he kept pushing himself the way he was. Something to take advantage of, certainly. But for how long would that advantage even last? Determination could do wonders when you wanted to kill somebody.

Point was, the velocity cascader wasn't a combat enhancer like he was treating it as. It was, to her, simply a tool – a means of getting from point A to point B swiftly. Smokescreen personally saw it as a great gift not to be abused. This creepy surgeon was abusing it to no end, and it made her Energon boil in outrage. She'd be sure to teach him a lesson.

' _Zodiac! You're okay!_ ' Smokescreen crowed in ecstasy over the newly functioning bond.

' _Can't talk right now! Busy! Being chased by Doctor Frankenstein!_ '

' _Wait, what?!_ '

With that she unceremoniously shut him out. She needed to focus if she wanted to reach him alive and in one piece, so she couldn't have him distracting her. She would apologize when she reunited with him, hopefully in a few minutes.

If she didn't die, of course.

* * *

Smokescreen growled softly at Zodiac's cutting him off so abruptly. This wasn't like her, but if what she had said was true and not her version of a joke, then she was neck deep in scrap. It probably explained her signal's erratic movements – she was trying to dodge away from the stronger primary signal of Sideswipe following literally right behind her. To top it off, the signal echo from the young mech was still there, and it hadn't moved at all. It was also quite a bit fainter than the primary signal, flickering in and out like a phantasm.

Why was Sideswipe even chasing her to begin with? And why had she called him Doctor Frankenstein? He wasn't a doctor. What in the Allspark was going on here?

Bumblebee took charge: "Fix-It, Windstorm, you're coming with me. We'll investigate the echo. Everyone else keep an eye out for Sideswipe and Zodiac. _Find them_. Figure out what the scrap is going on."

"Quite right. We will." Windstorm nodded sharply, electric yellow optics glittering. "Come, Fix-It! The game is afoot!"

The inventor strode briskly away with the orange mini-con trailing behind him anxiously, blue optics glued to the scanner in his hands with patrol officer on the opposite side of him, his own blue optics flicking around him warily. All three could sense something wasn't quite right in these tunnels. A cursory glance behind showed Bumblebee the other Cybertronians already splitting off down another corridor to try and intercept Zodiac and Sideswipe.

' _Be careful, 'Bots._ '

* * *

Back at the salvage yard things were a bit more peaceful. Denny and Russell were busy maintaining their property whilst Charity kept an unobtrusive watch on them from her forming medical bay off in one section of the yard. The femme medic was quite protective of them, and more so right now. Frostbite had recently radioed in to report there was a fairly fresh Decepticon scent nearby that he, unsurprisingly, hadn't recognized. It was an unfortunate truth that not many scents around here were likely to ring any bells. He had warned her to keep a look out for this 'Con, but she had yet to tell the two humans. Frankly, she didn't want them worrying. With the others gone and the looming risk of Steeljaw and his pack paying them a surprise visit, they had enough on their plates as it was.

She turned on hearing a tell-tale howl just in time to see the Canipid leap over the wall nearest her. He came skidding to a stop, icy blue optics brimming with relief that none so far had been hurt. He let out a small whine as he lightly bumped his snout against her leg. She smiled and gave him a friendly scratch behind the audials, reassuring him that all was well.

"Find this 'Con yet?"

Frostbite shook his helm, growling softly: [No. Scent's fresh, but not from today. I actually followed it back in here since it seemed a bit familiar after a while. Think I figured out why. Come.]

The Canipid flicked his tail and began to trot off, headed, it would seem, for the few occupied stasis pods that housed recently re-captured prisoners. Growing wary yet curious, Charity strolled after him. All the prisoners were accounted for...weren't they? She didn't know. She tended to stay away from that section of the yard. It made her uncomfortable to see them frozen in the last position they had been in before the cryogenic gases had put them out. She was a loyal Autobot, but seeing that sort of sight always made her spark quiver in pity. No one deserved such a fate in her opinion, criminal or not – to be trapped in an indefinite and quite possibly totally dreamless sleep, frozen and unable to break out of it. No dreams, just unending darkness. To her, such a fate was worse than termination.

Frostbite led her to one of the pods, stopping by it and sitting back on his haunches, tail a-swish as he waited for her to catch up. When she finally did, he gestured with his snout to the pod's occupant - a large insectoid looking red mech with multiple yellow optics. At first nothing seemed wrong to her, but on closer examination it was revealed that one of his arms was missing. Was this what Frostbite had wanted to show her? What was the problem though? The mech had just lost an arm during a brawl with Bumblebee's team. Such things happened.

[Chop Shop. Combiner.]

Those three words solved the puzzle in her processor. If Chop Shop was a combiner, and one of his "arms," which was in fact another smaller mech, was missing...

"You think he'll try and bust the other members of his gestalt out?"

[Almost certain of it. His scent's all over the place. Been trying to for some time now, clearly. Never had the chance. Too many possible witnesses. But with only you, me, Denny, and Russell here...]

Charity nodded slowly: "Golden opportunity for him. I understand now."

Frostbite's audials pinned back as he rose to his paws once again. He let out a soft growl, putting his snout to the ground and slinking off, following the scent. Charity's trade-mark gentle smile was now a small frown of worry, and her jade optics were no longer calm and collected. They were now filled and marred with concern. Idly she began wringing her hands – a nervous tic that rarely if ever manifested. It wasn't that she doubted the Canipid's tracking abilities, but he was only mech, and the salvage yard was fairly expansive. There were also certain ways to fool a mech's olfactory sensors, though Frostbite probably knew of such methods and was able to account for them.

All Chop Shop had to do to avoid him and everyone else was be cautious. And with his gestalt's freedom on the line, he no doubt would be.

Transforming in a hurry, she sped over to where Denny and Russell were busy organizing and maintaining the older human's collection of antiquities. While Frostbite tried to track down the missing gestalt member, she would keep a close, constant watch over the two organics. She would not let them be harmed, and she had a secret weapon on her side that would assist in that task: her photoharp.

If Chop Shop _did_ make an appearance, she would be ready for him.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yeah, this one's gonna be a three parter!**

 ***Note 1: Survived the first week of college! It was actually super fun, and all my teachers are so super nice and friendly and helpful! Go UHCL! I thought I'd be a mass of nerves, being a naturally nervous person, but I've done so well, and I'm so proud of myself! Yay me! :3**

 ***Note 2: GO HAWKS! xD**


	13. Chapter 13: Lightning Reflexes

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 13**

* * *

Windstorm strode ahead of Fix-It and Bumblebee with assurance, his pale yellow optics never once straying from his projected holographic map of Crown City's expansive network of subway tunnels. His quick strides were certain, sure, and his field was steady and strong, glyphs for confidence and wisdom flitting around in it. His helm was angled downwards, his optics seemingly fixated on his arm display. The other two might've been excused for believing him to be utterly oblivious to his surroundings, but that unspoken opinion of theirs was soon altered the more they observed him:

Windstorm's audial receptors appeared to be set to the maximum sensitivity setting, as he reacted to even the faintest of detected sounds – tensing one moment and then relaxing the very next. His optics, too, were not glued permanently to the display, but would, with the regularity of clockwork, flick up to quickly pan his surroundings before returning to their original target. He seemed to be hyper aware of everything going on around him.

"Still got the signal?" asked Bumblebee.

The inventor nodded sharply, not even looking back as he replied: "Yes. I still have yet to form an acceptable theory as to this echo's origin, however. It seems entirely unaccountable for, to be frank."

"Think it's a trap set up by our 'Con?"

Windstorm shook his helm, glyphs for confusion growing more frequent and more noticeable in his highly active field. His pale yellow optics were awash with deep perplexity as he answered back quickly:

"No, or at least, highly doubtful. I have studied false spark signals and mimicry methods that were used during the War, and this does not match any of the pre-requisite criteria for such a complex trap. No, the signal _is_ genuine. That much I do know for certain. What is _causing_ it is what puzzles me. A mech cannot be in two places as once. Such a seeming impossibility can only truly exist at the quantum level. They do not apply at macro scales."

"Uh...yeah. I'll just take your word for that."

They continued on for some minutes in silence, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary that might give them a clue as to reason for Sideswipe's signal being in two places at once. But aside from a mangy looking, scrawny rat scurrying into a drainage vent there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary or helpful to their strange investigation in the remotest sense of the word. Everything looked disturbingly normal, and that seeming normalcy, paradoxically, set them all on edge.

Windstorm took a sharp turn down another tunnel, optics once more flicking up to pan his surroundings before falling back to the holographic display on his arm. The display data was synchronized to Fix-It's own hand-held scanner, but it was also getting readings of its own, and both were saying the signal echo was coming from this particular tunnel. However, like all the other tunnels, nothing seemed out of place. Odder still was that their scanners seemed to be directing them to an old maintenance tunnel that looked to have been boarded up for quite some time – the wood was decayed, dulled in color, and the nails holding them together and to the tunnel walls were covered in a thick coating of rust.

He approached the rotting boards, kneeling down to examine them with a critical optic, letting a hand hover over them. His optics narrowed. "Hm. Strange..."

"Are the scanners wrong?" wondered Fix-It, rolling over to stand at his side, helm tilted a few degrees in curiosity. Maybe this signal echo was the result of a glitch or an error in the scanning code. But the inventor had been quite positive when he had said the signal was genuine.

"Certainly not. I calibrated them just this morning. They are not inaccurate. And yet..." Windstorm's voice trailed away as he lapsed further into thought, a frown of perplexity forming slowly on his faceplates, one hand rising to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

There was something about this that baffled him to no end, and he disliked not having an answer to a puzzle, especially one involving a captive ally. Sideswipe and Zodiac's lives could very well depend on whether he could find the answer to this seeming conundrum. Idly he sniffed at the air, noting a faint but distinct tang of ammonia near the boards, along with a whiff of something else...paint?

"I wonder..."

Then, before either of the inventor's companions could react or even think to react, Windstorm's hand suddenly shot forward in a blur, grasping onto one of the bottom boards and yanking it out of place with hardly any effort. Like a line of dominoes the remaining boards fell to the floor in a reverberating clatter of wood against cement, the nails coming loose from their sockets and hitting the ground with soft chinking sounds.

Revealed was a darkened passageway just tall enough to permit the average sized Cybertronian if they hunched over, beyond which pale lights flickered eerily.

Windstorm's frown altered to a triumphant smile as he explained: "Boards were artificially aged and weathered to give the illusion of time passage. Nails were painted to make it seem like they were rusted, and an oxidant was used on them to make it seem even more genuine. Hm. Clever, if rather rudimentary. To be able to make such an effective – if somewhat crude, granted – visual ruse on so few resources..." There was what almost sounded like appreciation or admiration in his tone.

"Nice work, Windstorm!" applauded Bumblebee. "C'mon. Let's check it out and see what's going on in there."

Without further ado the patrol officer ducked into the passageway closely followed by his two friends. They all three knew the answer to this strange signal echo lay at the end of this dark passageway, and they were intent on getting it. Windstorm would get his answer, one way or another. But in their sparks, each of the three mechs prayed that the answer would be to their liking. If there was one thing they didn't want to find in there, it was Sideswipe's dead or dismembered body.

* * *

Zodiac was beginning to tire. Without the use of her velocity cascader, she couldn't reach her former fantastic speeds and as such she couldn't hope to outpace the mad surgeon currently busy chasing her. She was reduced to playing defense, endlessly dodging his strikes and lunges, and she knew enough about combat tactics to know such a strategy never lasted indefinitely. This wasn't a battle she could win, not alone, and definitely not without her cascader. If she didn't find help soon, Vertebreak would overtake her, and she would either be killed or brought back to his lab for further experimentation. Neither of those outcomes were to her liking. A corpse or a test subject? No thank you.

And besides, if she got herself killed, then Smokescreen would terminate as well. She would never forgive herself if he got hurt because of her. He just...he cared so much for her, and she cared so much for him.

Her expression hardened. She'd make it. No negative talk. It would only make him nervous. With that, she let him back in: ' _Smoke! Where are you?! I need your help! Like right slagging now would be good! Dr. Frankenstein's catching up! I dunno how much longer I can play keep away with him!_ '

A wash of such relief and anxiety flooded her spark that she nearly broke into tears. Why had she blocked him out earlier? That had been stupid of her, short-sighted. So much for being ranked among the smartest members of the entire Cybertronian Exploration and Research Fleet. Her decision to block him was utterly imbecilic in hindsight. She could only hope he hadn't been seriously offended by the act.

' _Hey, hey. No biggie. You needed to focus. Having me in your helm panicking over whether or not you were okay every five or six nanokliks might've been a bit of a distraction. Don't worry about it. I'm not offended, 'Zee. Fix-It had you on scanners earlier. Just follow your spark, use it to find me. And, if you can, please tell me who the scrap this Doctor Frankenstein guy is. We need an ID so we know what we're dealing with._ '

Avoiding another swipe and slash from Vertebreak, Zodiac veered sharply around a corner, following the low but steady hum in her spark. The mad surgeon, not anticipating such a tight turn and not compensating for his greater mass very well, lightly careened into the opposite wall before screaming after her once again. It hadn't bought her much of a distance increase, but it had bought her some – enough to get the information over to Smokescreen.

' _Vertebreak. Serpentine. Surgeon. Stole my cascader. Implanted it in himself and he's currently busy trying to kill me with it._ '

' _...Please tell me you're joking._ '

' _No_ _._ '

' _Scrap._ '

* * *

"So? What'd she say?" demanded Grimlock.

Worry swam in the Elite Guardsmech's optics, but then a flash of determination chased it away. He turned to the golden and silver Praxian at his side whose gaze was locked onto his with patient inquisitiveness. Privately Smokescreen wished he had the amount of self-composure and unflappability that Counterforce possessed. It seemed nothing could make him lose his cool. He was as poised and unshaken and calm as ever, if perhaps a little on the inquisitive side now.

"You know anyone named Vertebreak?"

Before Counterforce could reply, a low snarl of a growl was heard, so animalistic in sound that for a moment those gathered believed Frostbite had arrived on the scene. Everyone was shocked and rather unnerved to find out that this savage, bestial noise had come from the vocalizer of Sentenza, and that her optics at the moment were blood red. She had one hand over the black bar of her extendable energy scythe, and she seemed to be fighting the urge to draw it.

"I thought I made sure that demented scraplet was put away for good!" hissed the Seeker viciously.

Every single Cybertronian present stared at her, and each warily stepped back as her hand tightened around the black bar on her hip. Counterforce reacted in an instant, putting a hand on her right arm and gazing hard at her through his dual-colored optics. Somehow, through some means, this broke the spell of anger that was bubbling within the Seeker femme's spark. Her hand stayed its course before falling to her side, limp. Her optics brightened to their normal bright Predacon yellow hue.

"Sorry." Sentenza murmured, helm lowering, though she cast a quick, grateful glance up at the Praxian. Primus, how had she managed to survive without him for so long?

' _You're welcome._ ' the mech's dual-colored optics seemed to reply.

"Who? I've never heard that name before. Who is this Vertebreak person?" Strongarm wondered rather impatiently.

Sentenza took a steadying intake of air before beginning:

"Vertebreak is a skilled transplant surgeon. He was once a member of the Academy of Science in Crystal City, but due to numerous ethical and moral transgressions made during two or three of his surgeries, along with a fair few 'unofficial' surgeries that were never authorized by his superiors – highly experimental and dangerous - he was arrested. Unfortunately the mech was extremely secretive when it came to these dubious acts. No one was able to get any evidence against him, at least not evidence acceptable in a court of law, and those he had worked on were lower class workers who were unwilling to rat him out. He had helped to replace certain bio-mechanisms that were broken or malfunctioning due to strain or physical injury. They saw him as an ally, not an enemy, and those types tend not to trust the police, though I will note they never bothered to ask where he'd gotten those spares _from_. That's when I was called in by Praxus Law Enforcement. They knew of my reputation for intelligence gathering, no matter how hard to acquire it might seem."

Her sentences became shorter then, curter. "I got the data. He got put away, struck off the register. End of story." Sentenza finished.

Backdraft pointed out what in his mind was rather significant, musing aloud: "Crystal City did'ya say? Huh. Windstorm might know about the guy then. Lemme ask him. I got his comm. frequency." The mech instantly set about trying to contact the inventor, but oddly enough he emitted a soft curse, saying that all he was getting was static. Wherever Windstorm was, something was messing with communications.

"...What data was that exactly?" Grimlock asked hesitantly. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer. None of them would.

"Illegal cyber-grafting. Oh! and murder. Can't forget that."

Stunned, horrified expressions formed on those gathered before her. Smokescreen nodded grimly, frowning, informing them of his bond-mate's words that served as a warning to the group – that Vertebreak had stolen her velocity cascader and had implanted it in himself. He now had the ability to move as fast as a lightning strike. However, Zodiac hadn't mentioned anything concerning Sideswipe to him, meaning she either knew nothing of the mech's current fate or she had simply run out of time to relay the information. Personally he was thinking the latter, but admitted he could be wrong.

Just then, a familiar sound echoed down the tunnel like a high-pitched alarm. It was a sound that filled them with relief and hope of victory, but it was a sound that heralded trouble incoming as well:

 _KREEEEE!_

Barreling down the tunnel at a speed just short of that of a rampaging highway vehicle, royal blue optics showing panic, was Zodiac. Behind her a short ways and partially concealed by the dim lighting was a familiar, angular form sporting a thin blade in one hand. Sideswipe's silhouette was easily distinguishable, but the helm was off. His helm was far too...wide, and his optics, rather than their usual blue, were now a sickly, almost poisonous shade of yellow.

Then the charging mech finally rushed out into the light. Six pairs of optics widened in shock, Zodiac shrieking over the common frequency at them all to run.

No wonder it didn't look like Sideswipe's helm because it _wasn't_ his helm. It was someone else's helm attached to his shoulders, and it resembled that of a serpent's. Now they knew what had happened to Sideswipe. He'd been body jacked. Vertebreak hadn't implanted the cascader into _his_ body, but into that of his victim. Vertebreak's body was probably lying back in his lair, helm-less but still living – inert but online – hopefully along with Sideswipe's helm.

The foreign helm smiled dangerously before loosing a laugh that was utterly mad – high-pitched, long, and entirely unrestrained. They weren't just dealing with a talented surgeon, but an absolute lunatic who now had access to Sideswipe's agility and Zodiac's lightning speed and reflexes. That was an easily lethal combination.

"Ah! You led me to more test subjects! How kind of you, little femme!"

Zodiac slowed, transformed mid-air, and with surprising grace landed on her bond-mate's shoulder, latching onto him for protection whilst giving Vertebreak a look that was downright murderous. She obviously was incredibly mad at him for taking her cascader from her, and she wanted it back no matter what it took. But there was also a hint of hesitation in her optics. She didn't want to hurt Sideswipe's frame, even if it was under the control of another.

"Have I? Well, then I'll just have to make sure you never lay one digit on them now, won't I?" the Avioid snapped aggressively.

Vertebreak flung his helm back and laughed again. Then, with a sound like that of a thunder clap, he surged towards the gathered Autobots in a blinding blur of bright crimson and outright insanity, sword raised to strike...and an ominous sounding clang reverberated down the tunnel's length.

* * *

Shock. Horror. Disbelief.

Those were the first things the trio of mechs felt when they stepped out of the dim passageway and into the much larger chamber at its end. All around the larger chamber were scientific instruments and jury-rigged contraptions straight out of an engineer's worst nightmare. Massive cylinders of electricity powered the hidden laboratory as it leeched power from the lines feeding the subway's third rails and overhead lights. Tables laden with surgical instruments were dotted about like grim, silent warning plaques. If ever a place looked worthy to house a robotic version of Dr. Frankenstein, this place sure as slag did.

Their mouths dropped open after a few moments, Fix-It emitting a small whimper of fright and clinging to Bumblebee's heel strut.

"By the Primes..." muttered the yellow and black mech, optics round. This...this was utterly horrific. Their 'Con was some sort of mad doctor, and he had Zodiac and Sideswipe at his mercy. Primus only knew what he was doing or had already done to them. In vain he tried his comm. link only to hear static. This mad doctor wanted no intruders in his lair, clearly. No calling in for information or support, either.

But then Windstorm said something that nearly made the two of them laugh despite feeling they'd walked into a horror movie:

"Fascinating!" exclaimed the inventor excitedly, bouncing once on his pedes like an over-eager sparkling, pale yellow optics alight in a strange amount of intrigue. He was brave in his own unique way it seemed. Present him with a grotesque lab owned by a mad Decepticon doctor and he became as excitable and as curious as a cyber-kit.

He started off deeper into the large chamber at a slow pace so as to be able to take everything in, helm and optics angling and flicking every which way like that of a curious sparrow, noting conditions of the apparatuses used to power the lab and the names of the surgical tools as he wandered. A hand would occasionally dart out to grab a tool, examine it, and then place it back exactly where it had been. On noticing that neither was following him, he turned around and asked:

"Well? You lot coming or not? Only way to learn anything about this place and the fate of our allies is to get down into the thick of it. We won't learn anything by twiddling our digits now, will we?"

At that moment a voice cried out in relief:

"Windstorm?! That you?!"

All three mechs froze.

"Sideswipe?! Where the scrap are you? Are you okay?!" Bumblebee shouted out, relief flooding his spark, though his doorwings were held up at a sharp angle, helm whipping around as he searched for the source of the mech's voice.

If Sideswipe was capable of talking that meant he was okay. Surely. He didn't sound hurt in any way, for which he was devoutly thankful. Their 'Con wasn't a killer it seemed, merely an experimenter. But experimenting with what, and to what end? Zodiac they understood due to her cascader – such devices weren't commonplace and he would no doubt love to examine and experiment with it for his own gains – but why Sideswipe?

Fix-It brought up his scanner, gesturing with his free hand deeper into the recesses of the chamber. Sideswipe's signal echo was coming from there. They started off with the mini-con in the lead, drawing farther into the hidden laboratory, and farther into the scientific horror of the place.

"Warmer." hinted Sideswipe.

They continued onwards, passing more tables of surgical tools and vials of chemicals and Energon.

"Warmer."

Deeper they went, finding themselves in a make-shift medical bay with two sturdy exam slabs outfitted with energy restraints, one of which was broken. Low tables nearby were strewn with tools, vials, containers with spare parts, and other such things that a mad doctor would need. So focused was the trio in their search that Windstorm and Bumblebee both half-tripped over something beneath them while their mini-con friend collided into it. Both taller mechs gasped and quickly took steps back. Fix-It uttered a small shriek.

Coiled one the floor was a long, snake-like pale gold and brown metallic body bearing a Decepticon logo on its upper torso, helm-less.

"Hot! Very hot! Supernova!"

Bumblebee sighed in aggravation and mounting impatience. "Where are you?! Just tell us already!"

"Table behind you, genius!" Sideswipe snapped in a strangely petulant tone of voice.

Two helms whipped around to examine the indicated table while a third jerked upwards. Bumblebee instantly began moving vials and tools and canisters aside. When he finally found what he was looking for he nearly jumped backwards and yipped out of shock. Only Windstorm didn't seem phased by the odd sight before them. He seemed far more intrigued. Fix-It, the poor mini-con, wasn't able to see anything due to his minuscule stature.

Sitting in front of them on the table, contained in a large holder, was Sideswipe's still functioning helm.

"So. How's _your_ day been going?" grumped Sideswipe.

* * *

 _CLANG!_

Those gathered stared in awe at the sight before them. They almost couldn't believe what they were seeing.

Holding Vertebreak at bay, hovering mid-air with the aid of her wings, tiny energy shield blocking the mad surgeon's possibly lethal blade slash, was Zodiac. The little Avioid was keeping Vertebreak, a mech easily over three times her size, away from her friends, entirely on her own. Her expression was stern, defiant, and filled with mute rage, the diodes on her body igniting and forming into the constellations of Taurus, Draco, Aries, and Leo – creatures of power and strength. It was her way of saying that Vertebreak wouldn't get past her, invoking these ancient terrestrial images.

Vertebreak snarled and tried to shoot around her, but the Avioid blocked him again, his blade harmlessly striking her shield again. The clang and clash of metal against solid energy reverberated down the tunnel as the femme repeatedly refused to let him come near the others, ducking and dodging if feeling she couldn't raise her shield in time, swiping at him if an opening presented itself.

One such opening occurred when the cascader finally decided to shut down for a brief moment to recuperate from the strain put on it. Seizing the opportunity, she rushed forward and kicked at the mech's faceplates before slashing at the same spot with her blade less than a second afterwards. The blade found its mark, leaving a small but deep gash in Vertebreak's right cheek that began oozing still-warm Energon. Before he could recover, she then slammed her shield as hard as she could against that same cheek, dazing him and accentuating the pain.

"No way." Grimlock gawked. For someone who was against fighting to solve problems, this femme sure could fight! Brutal, too!

"Dude, your girl's a freaking beast!" Backdraft hooted. "Go Zodiac! Woohoo!"

Vertebreak staggered back, hissing as he gingerly touched the gash on his cheek. Clearly he'd underestimated this astronomer and her abilities, and he'd equally over-estimated the cascader's power. The blasted device was refusing to activate. He was as slow as everyone else at the moment, certainly slower than her, and such sluggishness was aggravating. But then a faint whirring sound told him the device had recovered enough for another round of use. He grinned manically, as the scales were now tipped back in his favor once more. Raising his blade, he charged forwards, ramming the butt of weapon into the little femme and knocking her against the opposite wall. With a short keen she fell, senseless.

Smokescreen rushed to her side in an instant, taking a defensive position and drawing his gun, training it on the 'Con, but knowing it was fruitless. He wouldn't be able to land a shot on him if he were moving as fast as a bullet.

He took stock of the gathering of test subjects. Healthy specimens, all of them, though the Dinobot was a bit too brutish for his tastes. The golden and silver Praxian interested him, as did the Altihexian biker mech. But...he took stock again, feeling a twinge of fear in his borrowed spark. Soon it began to race in outright panic. He took a wary step back.

The black Seeker femme, the one who had helped put him behind bars, was now missing from the group.

Vertebreak heard the tell-tale _shrrrng_ of her weapon being retracted, but he reacted too late. Something was barred tightly across his neck, tight enough to constrict air flow into his frontal neck vents and constrict the cables. Invisible hands grabbed his own and held them in a painful position behind him. He tried to break free of her death grip, but couldn't. She was holding him in such a way that if he _did_ move, it would be agonizing. He choked as he felt himself dragged back, away from the group of Autobots.

"Counterforce! Show him the light!" a female voice, _her_ voice, hinted.

The Praxian nodded sharply, and to Vertebreak's intrigue the Autobots shuttered their optics or turned away from the mech. Why would they...?

His answer came before he could even finish his mental question. A blinding golden flash of light illuminated the tunnel like an exploding supernova. Vertebreak screamed as he felt his optics seared by the bright photon burst, struggling to shut them and save himself irreparable damage. But he found he couldn't shut them no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to absorb everything he could about this spectacular ability. At last the pain and instinctual sense of preservation overwrote the need to gather data, and he finally managed to shutter them.

It was too late however. The damage had been done. When he opened them a moment later he could see nothing, though he knew from the alerts rapid-firing through his processor that they still functioned. Obviously the effects were temporary, but for the moment he was effectively blind, not to mention he was still being restrained by the feared Sentenza. But, at the same time, he didn't want to surrender to these mechs and femmes, didn't want to go back into that pod. He had the power to escape. He just had to time it right. A little pain would be worth getting his hands on the Praxian. That ability warranted further study – _much_ further study.

Lifting one pede off the ground, he kicked the invisible form holding him. He felt her stagger slightly, felt the grip she held on him loosen by a fraction. But it was enough. He yanked his hands free, grabbed the invisible bar held across his neck, spun around and slammed it into the Nightdemon's hidden frame, all within less than a second. A sickening clang and an inventive swear cut abruptly short told him he had hit his mark.

"Sentenza!" cried the Praxian.

Counterforce emitted a low snarl and rushed towards Vertebreak, drawing his own golden energy scimitar in a flash, and unless everyone's optics were playing tricks on them, they could've sworn his one silver optic temporarily shone brighter. Grimlock joined him in the assault, thundering forward while issuing a gurgling growl from his vocalizer. Backdraft charged up his flamethrowers. Strongarm drew her blaster. All the while, Smokescreen remained at the downed Zodiac's side, hovering over her protectively, one hand ready to activate his Phase Shifter.

 _CLANG! CLASH! WW-CHANG!_

Grimlock was sent staggering back from a blinding flurry of attacks. Backdraft and Strongarm were effortlessly tossed against the opposite wall, the two falling in heaps, dazed. Smokescreen was hurled against the Dinobot, and both went down.

"So you're interested in me, are you, Vertebreak?" guessed Counterforce warily, backing away. His optics were locked onto the surgeon's frame, watching for any sudden movements, his whole body tense and ready to react in a moment's notice. "My ability fascinates you, am I right? You want to learn more about it?"

Vertebreak smiled slyly, circling him with blade drawn: "Indeed. Photon manipulation is a talent never recorded or observed in our kind before. Why, I wonder, would Primus grant such an ability to you? An experiment perhaps? Or perhaps for another reason, as yet unrevealed?"

"Perhaps one, perhaps both, or perhaps neither is the case." admitted the Praxian philosophically. "But I believe it's because he knows I won't abuse it. I use it to help rather than to harm. Unlike you, scavenger."

"Scavenger?! How dare you! I am a scientist!" Vertebreak screeched, blind optics flaring indignantly.

"Does a scientist force his subjects into experiments? Does a scientist murder his subjects once he's through with them? I already put you away once, Decepticon. I'll do it again. Even with that stolen speed of yours, you're not dangerous, not to me. You're nothing but a petty scavenger trying to make a name for himself through any means necessary. Go on. Try and convince me otherwise."

Thus goaded, Vertebreak screamed in outrage and blindly flew at the source of the voice that was calmly taunting him, sword raised to slash at the mech. He would pay for mocking him, as would the others at the Academy for locking him away once he was free of this planet.

But to his shock, he never hit his target. Counterforce had dodged nimbly out of his path with what he could only assume had been unimaginable grace. The surgeon spun around to strike in a whirling blur of crimson, only to have his spinning strike effortlessly parried. And what was more annoying, the cascader once again shut down to recharge. Once more, he was at a disadvantage.

His aggravation only grew when the Praxian chuckled: "Having technical difficulties, Vertebreak?"

With a second scream of fury he flew at Counterforce once again, feeling suddenly as if he were moving at a snail's pace. He could almost imagine the resplendent mech mentally clicking in disapproval at such a brash course of action. He could also envision the Praxian's blade being raised to block him with a skill and grace borne of decades of dutiful, intense practice:

 _WW-CHANG!_

 _"_ Come on! Is that the best you can do? I've seen turbo-foxes fight better!"

 _CHANG! WW-CLANG!_

Swipes, slashes, kicks, parries, unarmed swings and blocks, were all blurred together. Counterforce's only thought was to keep this manic scientist distracted. He toned out all other sounds and sights to where they were mere blurs and muffled whispers, in effect narrowing his concentration, but at the same time maintaining awareness of his surroundings. Multitasking was something any good swordsmech was able to do.

He didn't have to beat him, not really. Beating a speed-gifted was near to impossible. He would have to be a speed-gifted himself to accomplish that victory. No. He just had to force the cascader into shut down by making him overuse it again. Then he could strike unhindered and put this mad mech down. And that he _could_ do. Holding a speed-gifted _back_ was not impossible, it was merely challenging and exhausting. One just had to pick up the pattern they used in their attacks and speed bursts, and pattern recognition was something he was good at. So far, the mad surgeon's pattern was childishly simple to follow – speed charges coupled with a simple sword technique.

It quickly became apparent to the Praxian that Vertebreak's movements were eerily similar to those of Sideswipe. Realization dawned on him then: Vertebreak had absorbed and kept Sideswipe's repertoire of motions rather than create his own. And Sideswipe, needless to say, was not a master swordsmech, certainly nowhere near Counterforce's level of expertise. In short, Vertebreak was actually _lazy_. He'd had surprise on his side earlier, but the short fight had left him open.

The mech grinned. This fight had just been made much simpler.

Vertebreak swung another spinning whirlwind strike at him. Rather than parry it like last time, he met the blade in such a way that the deeply curved middle portion of his scimitar caught that of the opposing longsword. Then, with a flourish worthy of a duelist of old, he spun the longsword into the air, caught it, and brandished both blades at the surgeon's neck, an ever so slightly smug smirk forming on his lip-plates.

"Checkmate." said the Praxian simply.

Flipping both weapons end over end to where their flat sides faced his opponent, he slammed the blades, one after the other in a classic double swift-strike against the mad surgeon's misplaced helm, putting enough force into the powerful blow to send him flying into the nearby wall, his hijacked body crumpling like a rag-doll, dazed. After a moment his yellow optics dimmed, then shuttered.

Counterforce, after clamping a pair of stasis cuffs onto Vertebreak, opened a comm. link, then set about helping his re-awakening allies to their pedes. Reporting in to a squadron leader was old habit to him, and he was happy to note that communications between their group and Bumblebee's were now working again, meaning they'd left the radio dead zone.

"Lieutenant? Our Decepticon fugitive is down. Did you find Sideswipe's missing helm?"

[Yeah.] There was a pause. [Wait, hang on. Back up. How the flying scrap did you _beat_ him? Sideswipe told us that he'd stolen 'Zee's cascader! You were literally fighting a slagging bullet, mech! A big _armed_ bullet! How the freaking –]

"I'll elaborate when we rendezvous. Head back to Vertebreak's lab, would you?" was all he answered back with.

[Oooh. Oh. You're playing _that_ game with me, are you?...Fine. Meet you and everyone else there I guess.]

The Praxian chuckled good-naturedly before severing the line, opening another to Charity, but was rather perturbed to not hear a response of any sort from the gentle femme medic. All he got was one sharp, short beep and then silence. That was odd. She seemed to have her comm. link on filter mode for some reason, meaning only chatter from specific 'Bots would go through the frequency filter and be picked up. It was rather like a human putting a cellular number on their block list temporarily, to filter out unwanted calls. That he was apparently not one of those select 'Bots...it didn't bode well. Something was going on at the salvage yard, that much was clear. But what though? What would prompt her to block out those under her medical supervision?

Regardless, with true optimistic stolidity he endeavored to push these troubling thoughts from his processor. Frostbite was roaming the woods near there. The loyal Canipid would jump in and help if something was wrong, and quite frankly not many 'Cons were willing to tangle with a Predacon. He knew that from experience. No sane warrior engaged a Predacon, especially not a clever Canipid.

He hemmed thoughtfully, turning his attention back to his surroundings. Right now his biggest concerns were here in this subway tunnel with him, recovering from the high-speed beating Vertebreak had given them. They were the main priority right now. He wasn't Charity, but he knew basic first-aid – enough to get them all feeling a little less ache-y.

That, and Sideswipe needed to be put back together. Hopefully they could manage such a feat without her. Windstorm and Fix-It together would have to suffice.

* * *

It didn't take long to get everyone gathered in Vertebreak's lab. Now came the risky part – putting Sideswipe's helm back on his hijacked frame. Fix-It had managed to locate the surgeon's notes, but they were as close to sparkling-like scribbles as one would ever find. Doodles, abbreviations, short comments, all jumbled together to make it seem as though a child and not an adult had jotted them down. The mini-con was humble enough to defer to the genius-intellect of Windstorm. If anyone could translate the notes, he could.

Windstorm skimmed over the notes with a critical, knowing look. "Hmm. Hm. I see. Well, not the most well-taken notes I've ever seen, but the procedure itself seems fairly simple, all things considered. Should be easy enough to do. We have all the needed tools here, thankfully. We'll just have to be cautious to ensure no glitches or problems. Cyber-grafting is a delicate thing from all the articles I've read."

"So does that mean you can put me back together?" Sideswipe demanded irritably. He felt utterly useless right now, stuck in a jar like a captured firefly, not able to do anything side from think and talk.

"And my VC? You can get it out of that scraplet?" added Zodiac anxiously. She could only imagine how worn down the device was after such constant use.

"Indeed."

Both uttered sighs of relief. Oh, to be back to their normal selves!

"Grimlock, grab Vertebreak's body and put it onto the second exam slab, if you would." Windstorm requested. "Do the same for Sideswipe. We'll remove the cascader and put it back where it belongs after we get them back together properly. I think it would be safer that way. Is that an acceptable plan of campaign, Zodiac?"

The Avioid nodded, shrugging: "I can wait. No biggie. I may be speed-gifted, but we astronomers are patient; have to be." She took pleased note of Smokescreen smiling at her. She could feel he was happy, proud.

"Very well, then. Fix-It and I will set to work momentarily. Let us gather the necessary tools first, and then we shall commence with the operation."

Fix-It nodded once, and the two mechs set about collecting the required items while Grimlock hefted both bodies onto the two exam slabs, though he had some slight difficulty with the long, snake-like form of Vertebreak who was too long to fit nicely on the slab. He contented himself with letting his lower tail section hang off the end. By then the two impromptu surgeons had all they needed.

"Ready?" asked the mini-con, looking up at the inventor.

"Quite. Let's begin."

* * *

Both mechs worked quickly and near silently, and the procedure went both smoothly and surprisingly fast. In but half an hour the two helms were back on the frames of their original owners. But with honest medical caution they kept the the two patients under the effects of general anesthetic to ensure their systems accepted the transplant of body parts – and to keep Vertebreak from slithering off.

Zodiac's procedure went even faster at a mere fifteen minutes, the femme astronomer kept under as well, but on a much lower dose due to her smaller size. She came around before the other patients, though she was a bit disoriented for a minute or two as her systems diluted the chemicals pumping through her lines. Fix-It advised her to not go attempting a speed burst until they could get her back to the salvage yard and have Charity look her over. She was complacent about such a request, not wanting to put more strain on the already weakened device.

The group waited patiently for Sideswipe to come back online. Eventually he did, looking half drunken from the effects of the anesthetic, much to the amusement of Backdraft and Strongarm, the latter relishing the fact the Lamborghini wasn't snarking at her. But from the impish glitter in his optics, it was plain he was thinking up some sort of mischief to make up for this lack of sassing.

"Strongarm? I...I don't..." mumbled the red mech. His helm lolled to the side, optics shuttering.

The cadet took one step towards him, concern slowly building in her optics after a minute of evident consideration. "Sideswipe?"

One blue optic opened, evil mischief glittering in its blue depths: "Primus, you even _worry_ slow!" Sideswipe teased, anesthetic clearly worn off.

Grimlock, Backdraft, Smokescreen, and Zodiac all burst out laughing. Strongarm looked annoyed for a moment before a tiny but genuine smile worked its way into existence on her lip-plates that was ever so slightly impish itself. Try as she might to hide it, she was in fact thankful he had suffered no ill effects from the hijacking. Having him back to his normal, obnoxious, childish self was strangely comforting.

"How about you put your motor where your mouth is, Sideswipe. Last one to the base has to pick up the loser's patrol duties for a week." Strongarm challenged him gamely, one hand on her hip.

Sideswipe practically leapt off the exam table, going face-to-face with her. A smirk formed.

"Bring it, slowpoke!"

With that, both contestants took off in a run down the tunnel, then transformed to vehicle mode and speeding onwards, engines roaring.

"Free for all! Last one to the scrapyard's a rusty T-Cog!" bellowed Grimlock, shifting to beast form and thundering after them. The others laughed and took off in pursuit of the three racers, easily outpacing the much slower Dinobot, but the mech didn't mind. Even Sentenza joined in, though the width of the tunnel prevented her from transforming. Instead she sportingly sprinted after them on foot, laughing.

Counterforce and Bumblebee merely smiled and shook their helms at the antics of their friends. Transforming, they sped after them. After all – if you couldn't beat 'em, why the heck not join 'em?

Smokescreen and Zodiac shared a sly, knowing glance, the Avioid's royal blue optics glittering playfully as a massive smile bloomed on her lip-plates. These guys wanted a free-for-all race, did they? Were they forgetting there was a speed gifted among them?

"Zee? Zoom zoom."

 _KRA-KOOM!_

* * *

 **Author's Note: Boy, long chapter is long. Charity, Frostbite, and co will be focused on next chapter, don't worry. I see that as a separate story line. Sorry this was so long in coming! Long chapter to make up for the delay.**

 ***College is going well still. :D Fun and keeps me nice and busy. Freaking LOVE my astronomy teacher. Swear that woman is a saint. We're already buddy-buddy, and she's very encouraging and funny. Comp 1 teacher is just as funny and nice, and my US History teacher is such an animated dude. Math is going okay (not a math person honestly), but the teacher is nice, and Learning Frameworks is still such a chill class.**


	14. Chapter 14: Wild Hunt

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 14**

* * *

 _An hour earlier..._

Frostbite kept his snout determinedly to the ground as he searched and sniffed around the salvage yard for fresh scents betraying Chop Shop's presence, a low growl escaping his vocalizer every few moments as protectiveness bubbled within his spark. Chop Shop's scent was fairly recent, but only within the time frame of the past day or so. It seemed the combiner's missing gestalt mate was hiding himself somewhere nearby, probably close enough to keep tabs on the goings-on within the salvage yard's interior.

With a faint snarl he leapt once more over the salvage yard's walls and out into the open wilderness. For some reason these woods were starting to feel strangely like home to him. Granted it wasn't anything like Cybertron's flat, open wilds, but he felt that he was the forest's designated protector, stalking the underbrush and keeping unwanted guests from finding his allies or harming the innocent organic creatures that flitted amongst the branches or darted through the shrubs. He admitted it was odd, but he also admitted that such a sensation didn't seem entirely unfounded. His beast form was based off of an Earth animal, after all, even if it had a few notable differences. He fit right in.

The Canipid slunk around the exterior walls, using the undergrowth as cover to keep himself partially hidden, still following the scent trail unerringly. Not for the first time did he sincerely wish that his frame wasn't pale, icy blue. It clashed horribly with the dark greens and browns of this forest. He wasn't exactly hidden from sight, just from immediate sight, especially if he stayed low and stayed still.

He followed the scent until it finally seemed to stop and increase in strength. Ahead of him was a cluster of bracken recently disturbed, broken twigs and dying and dead leaves lying ominously on the ground. Here, he was certain, was where the combiner's missing gestalt mate had been observing them from. And so here he would wait.

Lowering his belly onto the ground, Frostbite lay down as low as he possibly could, audials pricked up and swiveling as they searched for sounds that would betray the gestalt member's arrival to his observation point. A pleased rumble came from deep in his vocalizer. There was no way for Chop Shop to make it past him. He would hear and smell the little menace from miles away. His senses were unrivaled amongst the Predacon Clans of the Outer Wilds, and equally revered amongst the Iaconians for the number of lives they had helped to save.

His tail swished and his lowered body shifted once before falling still. ' _Come on, you little nuisance. I'm waiting for you..._ '

* * *

He waited. Waiting was something he was good at. For a Predacon, Frostbite was immeasurably patient.

Predaking had trained him in the finer concepts of hunting from a young age. The basics of a good hunter was to lie patiently and wait for the chosen prey to come to him, as it was the most energy efficient method when Energon was scarce, and he knew that, eventually, Chop Shop's missing gestalt mate would arrive. All he had to do was wait for that to happen, and frankly he would wait as long as he had to. Frostbite would not allow him to link back up with the other gestalt members, nor would he allow the little nuisance to harm Charity or the humans.

His audials pricked up and swiveled on hearing a soft crunching of dried leaves about one thousand or so paces from him, coupled with a now familiar scent brought to him on a strong westerly breeze. He drew in long intakes of air into his olfactory sensors to affirm, and let out a low, pleased growl softer than a whisper on finding it to be a perfect match to that of the combiner currently locked in stasis.

Chop Shop was coming to his vantage point. And he was right there waiting for him.

He lowered even further to where he was almost completely flat against the soil, pinned his audials back as far as they would physically go, coiled his tail around his frame, and retracted his claws. Liquid nitrogen began pumping into his fangs, but he kept the super-chilled substance from leaking out, as the sound of it dropping to the ground might alert Chop Shop. Only his icy blue hide would give him away, though that could be worked around if he stayed low in the underbrush and stayed as still as a corpse, which he was doing.

The Canipid permitted himself a small, fanged grin. This poor little scraplet wouldn't even know what had hit him. Chop Shop might as well have already shouted out his unconditional surrender. If he weren't so pleased he might've felt a little sorry for him. It was almost unfair. Should he perhaps be a good sport and give the poor mechling a short warning? He snorted mentally. Not on his life. It wasn't very often that a Decepticon wandered blindly into his claws.

A light pattering of multiple limbs grew louder with every passing moment until, at long last, a small crimson and maroon spider-like form crept over a fallen tree trunk, yellow optics wary as they darted around in search of unwanted company. Chop Shop's gestalt mate drew closer and closer to the Canipid lying in wait in the undergrowth, blissfully unaware of the canine hunter who watched his every movement.

When the spider mechling drew within a few dozen paces of him, he tensed, obviously sensing something was amiss. Not wanting the ambush opportunity to slip past him, Frostbite snarled and leapt out of the underbrush, claws and fangs bared to strike. Chop Shop, taken by surprise, went as rigid as a post, yellow optics round with fright. Then, his survival instinct kicking in, he flipped around and made to scurry away, glyphs for utter and complete panic lacing his tiny field as his legs tried their best to keep him moving at a fast pace.

Obviously Chop Shop hadn't been expecting him despite observing them for Onyx knew how long. How amusing. And fortunate.

Frostbite saw this as perfect incentive to give chase after the little spider mechling. Growling, he surged after him, relishing the thrill of the hunt-chase. It had been many cycles since his last hunt in the Outer Wilds with his pack-brothers and pack-sisters, and the targets then had been scraplets and other vermin that had been growing too numerous in their territory. Those had been simple hunts, with simple prey, more along the lines of obligatory pest-control than actual challenges.

Bigger prey, _smarter_ prey, meant a much more interesting – and much more challenging – hunt. And Frostbite enjoyed a good, sporting challenge of his abilities.

* * *

[Charity! Found him! Giving chase!] Frostbite's growl of a voice sounded over the femme medic's comm. link, sounding strangely and very obviously pleased.

Such pleasure left her feeling slightly disconcerted, as the sensible, civil part of her found it uncalled for, but such pleasure did make sense in hindsight – he was a Predacon, a beast-former. Hunting was embedded in his programming. It was part of his very identity. If he was able to indulge in his predatory instincts and also accomplish the mission at hand, then in her mind it was a win-win situation. And she knew for a fact that the famed "White Hound of Iacon" never harmed – he treated both ally and quarry with respect. Capture was the most he would go in this particular hunt.

She nodded once sharply. "Understood. Do what you can to keep him out of the salvage yard, but if he _does_ manage to get in, herd him towards me. The best, most effective way to beat a solitary gestalt member is to corral them and contain them. You're the corral-er...I guess that makes me the container. And if we can't contain him, at the least we can chase him off the grounds."

[Copy. I'll see to it. Keep the humans inside.]

"I will. Keep me posted on your progress. I'll filter out calls from the others for a short while so I'll only pick up your comm. calls."

[Is that wise?]

"Probably not." admitted the femme wryly, sighing.

She detected a soft grunt of acceptance from the Canipid before his comm. link set itself to idle. It was his way of wordlessly saying he was alright with this plan, but only to a certain degree. Keeping the others out of the loop as to what was going on here, as well as blocking them when the might very well need her vast medical skills, he saw as a short-term plan that might have repercussions later on. Frankly she agreed with him, but hopefully this issue could be resolved soon and she could disable the filters.

Charity turned to face out across the waters of the bay, her jade optics troubled yet still soft and gentle. Contriteness swam in their jade depths and coiled around her kind spark. Silently she apologized to the team busy tracking their target Decepticon within the city in the distance, hoping, praying, that her healer's skills would not be needed this day, that they could manage without her for this short span of time:

' _Sorry guys, but I think this is a bigger issue right now. You've got the advantage of numbers out there. We don't. Please, please can you forgive me?_ '

* * *

Frostbite easily kept pace with the fleeing spider mechling, though he had to admit that he was quite agile thanks to his extra legs. Chop Shop could turn at sharper angles than he could, and the 'Con took full advantage of that, much to his annoyance. It didn't give him a massive edge against the Canipid's dogged determination, but it enabled him to keep up a decent distance gap from his hunter, just enough to stay out of reach of his jaws and paralytic fangs. But that didn't stop Frostbite from snapping at the little nuisance anyways. All it would take to immobilize him was one small but solid bite. A small target like him required only the tiniest of doses of liquid nitrogen in order for the substance to affect his motor relay and nervous systems.

He quickly discovered that these snaps of his could be used for another purpose: herding. Every snap of his jaws made the spider mechling panic and veer in the opposite direction. Interesting. Normally herding behavior revolved around boxing the target in one position and forcing it down an invisible "corridor", but with no pack-mates to help him hunt or create this moving corridor, such tactics had to be a bit more...aggressive to achieve a similar result, it seemed.

While not a herding hound by nature by any means, he adapted his hunting strategy to incorporate aspects of basic herding that he had picked up from other Canipids on Cybertron who were practically built solely for such a purpose. They were highly energetic, very quick-thinking and clever, and incredibly driven. He had met with their leaders and warriors more than once when they had passed through his family pack's territory during their nomadic wanderings. They had been quite civil about the accidental incursions, but...Primus below had they been hyperactive to the nth degree, almost childlike in their energy levels. It had seemed as though they had been dealing with sparklings and not fully grown, mature mechs and femmes.

It wasn't that he didn't like them, these canine-forming nomadic beasts. He just found them rather odd. Frostbite himself was more "grounded" in terms of a place to call home.

Forcibly he shoved these remembrances from his processor. He needed to focus. If he couldn't _catch_ Chop Shop...he would just herd the little mechling straight into a trap, one that would force him to surrender or flee like a coward. In either scenario, the little menace would be the loser.

The Canipid snapped thrice more at his fleeing target, forcing him to turn about and head back the way he had come. Charity had told him that if he couldn't capture him to lead him towards her so she could "contain" him, though how exactly she, a vowed pacifist, intended to do so was beyond him. Chop Shop wouldn't exactly just waltz up to her and ask her to put him back in stasis. His first instinct was self-preservation, and his second was to get his gestalt mates _out_ of stasis.

So how did Charity intend to "contain" the little nuisance if she refused to battle him? Perhaps it was a case of processor over brawn? Would she outsmart him rather than outfight him? He supposed there was only one way to find out for certain.

He snapped again and Chop Shop dodged slightly to the left, his pace speeding up as the Canipid drew a little too close for comfort. Chop Shop could've sworn he felt the air just behind him drop fifty degrees after that particular snap, and he just knew that the chilliness was coming from the beast-former's massive saber fangs. He did _not_ want to find out what happened if he landed a bite on him.

Ahead of hunter and prey loomed the tall cement walls of the salvage yard. Chop Shop's pace increased further and with surprising grace he leapt up and clung to the grey wall and then scurried up and over into what he wrongly assumed was a maze he might, just might, be able to lose his pursuer in. Frostbite emitted a low growl and followed him over, landing with a heavy thud before darting after him.

Lifting his snout, he drew in a few short, sharp air intakes to determine the locations of the two humans. Hm. Good. They were on the other side of the yard; out of the way of trouble, hopefully. He performed the same quick action to locate Charity. She was closer, in her medical bay – close enough to hear him no matter what noise he made. He flung his helm back and unleashed an oil-chilling howl at a special frequency that the humans would not hear, knowing full well that Chop Shop wouldn't have any idea what it meant:

 _AROOOoooo!_

It was a signal to his hunting partner – Charity.

* * *

 _AROOOoooo!_

Charity tensed on hearing the abnormally low frequency howl wash over her audial receptors, far below the audible range of humans, the chilling sound unconsciously making her shiver. That he was howling _below_ the hearing range of Denny and Russell instantly set her own edge. He wouldn't do that normally. Frostbite made a habit of giving fair warning before he arrived on the scene, and as such his howls and other such noises never strayed from the set audible range of humans as a courtesy to the two currently giving him room, board, and a cover story.

Something was up, and that something was most likely to be the Canipid leading his target to her for containment. The femme medic frowned, jade optics awash with hesitation and pain. She had been hoping, praying, that it would not come to this. She had been praying that Frostbite could capture or chase off Chop Shop on his own.

Why?

Because it meant breaking her self-imposed vow to never harm another living being. And that was not something she was looking forward to.

Her hands wrung constantly as she crossed the small medical bay still technically under construction. Her optics locked onto the pale green photoharp laying oh so very innocently atop a stack of large crates holding various antique paraphernalia. It wasn't a weapon in the standard sense, and thankfully using it would not force her to actually physically fight, but unfortunately it would still hurt the combiner's gestalt mate. He was a Decepticon, that was indisputable, but her vow did not at all differentiate between political factions.

But sadly, it seemed she didn't really have a choice in the matter, and she wasn't about to let the gestalt member free the rest of his mates. If that happened there was the very real danger of him targeting the humans and or freeing the few Decepticons that Bumblebee's small team had managed to apprehend. There weren't very many of these captured convicts, granted, but even a few more Decepticons running loose would increase the danger they posed exponentially. There was also the looming risk of them allying with the charismatic and incredibly dangerous Steeljaw who already held sway over a few convicts, turning them into a small team of radicals intent on killing their Autobot "captors" and turning this poor planet into some kind of Decepticon safe haven.

She reached out, but her hand stopped mere inches from the instrument. From the sounds of things she only had a few more seconds to debate her choice. The femme bit her lip-plates as she struggled internally. And then her optics hardened, though they were filled with pain. Her expression became one of determination, but a determination marred by guilt.

In her mind the choice was clear: either she fought Chop Shop and saved Denny and Russell, or let the Decepticon harm them, her allies, and quite possibly innocent people. That was something she would not allow. She was a pacifist, but she was also a healer, and as a healer it was her first, solemn, and sworn duty to preserve life, no matter if it was alien to her.

Her hand continued forward and swiftly grabbed the photoharp. Then she ran, full sprint, towards the sounds of pedes pounding against the dirt in pursuit, diverting at the last second on hearing the pede pounding cease to the pre-arranged spot where Frostbite had told her to rendezvous with him.

Today, for the first time in her entire life, the femme would break her vow of pacifism and harm, indirectly, another living being. Her spark wrenched in her chest as it warred against the choice – in order to save lives, she had to hurt someone. A warrior would not hesitate to attack an enemy, a Decepticon foe at that, but she herself hurting a fellow living creature, enemy or not, was something her gentle, forgiving spark could not handle or frankly even process.

' _Primus forgive me..._ '

* * *

 _Grrrrr..._

Frostbite's low growl practically dripped with predatory pleasure as he slowly padded towards the cornered spider mechling, razor claws digging into the soil and fangs barred in an obvious threat as they seeped with liquid nitrogen, audials pinned back flat against his helm. Seeing Chop Shop cower before him, unable to run, was so very satisfying to his inner hunting beast. Every half-step he took towards him made the bitter smell of his fear spike, each fear spike serving to to feed his bubbling hunter's instincts. Every little squirm he made, every little surge of chemicals, every little noise made his instinct to finish the hunt surge.

But he did not let those instincts take over. He was not a true hunter in this case, and this was not prey to be killed. This was prey to be captured. There was a code of honor that he adhered strictly to, and he was not about to break it. And so he drew back half a step, still growling to ensure Chop Shop didn't try to make a break for it. Chop Shop appeared more than happy not to make any sudden moves, blatant relief in his yellow optics.

He could almost imagine the mechling thinking "Thank Primus that beast didn't eat me!"

His audials pricked straight up when he detected the sound of pedes pounding against the dirt in a quick sprint, but he knew better than to turn his helm to look. He did not need to look to know that his help was heading towards him. Charity was coming. He need only play vicious wild beast with the mechling her for a few more seconds. Then it would be the femme's turn to become the alpha hunter – or in this case, huntress.

He snarled viciously, further forcing Chop Shop to back away against the stacks of antiquities. There was a faint hissing sound as liquid nitrogen dripped onto the soil beneath his fanged maw.

Two of the mechling's front legs stuck up as though saying "Whoa there, mate! No need to be so pushy, now! I ain't goin' nowhere!"

Frostbite's audials pinned back slightly, the Canipid's vocalizer emitting another low growl. It was plain as day what he was saying: " _Good._ "

The sounds of sprinting grew as loud as thunder in his audial receptors until they finally came to an abrupt stop, accompanied by a very brief sound of sliding gravel that lasted no more than a few seconds. He permitted himself to cast a sideways glance behind him, keeping watch on Chop Shop out of his peripheral vision during that short time. A flash of multiple shades of green into his optics confirmed that Charity had indeed arrived to assist him at last, though he took curious note of a smaller flash of green and silver in her right hand – her photoharp. Confusion began to build in his processor at such an unusual and honestly unexpected sight.

Why in the name of Onyx Prime had she brought her photoharp with her? It was an instrument, not a weapon! What did she plan to do, lull Chop Shop into stasis with it?

[Frostbite, shut off your audials.] Charity requested in a strangely neutral tone.

He obeyed without argument, folding his audials back and shutting them off with a single string of command code. One moment, sound, and the next – total and complete silence. The sudden ceasing of all sound made him uncomfortable, and unconsciously his tail swished nervously. Shutting off even one of his senses was like taking away a part of his identity, and while he could still smell and see without trouble, his lack of auditory information still made him very uneasy. He was quite confused, too. Why had she asked him to shut them off in the first place? What was the femme planning that involved such a seemingly bizarre request?

Charity had watched Frostbite shut off his audials. She was satisfied that he wouldn't get hurt.

Silently the femme radioed Denny and Russell, saying she was testing out an amplitude enhancer on her photoharp, and she didn't know how it might possibly affect the sensitive tympanic membranes in their inner ears. It wasn't a lie, just a variation of the truth. She could only hope they had listened and heeded her warning, because frankly the latter portion of the semi-lie was true. She had no idea how a high amplitude, high frequency sonic attack might affect their ears. Frostbite she knew would react adversely to such an attack, but the humans? She hadn't the faintest idea, and she would rather not take unnecessary risks.

That she was lying, even partly, made her spark wrench in protest. She wasn't a liar, but here she was lying to the two humans.

"I'm sorry." Charity apologized aloud, optics full of pain. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to do this. Please, please forgive me." She noticed Chop Shop look at her...oddly.

She raised the photoharp in one hand, using the other to disengage the amplitude and frequency safeties. Then, readying her free hand, she quickly ran three digits over a few key strings at once in a heavy rock and roll sounding chord. So powerful was the attack that it not only made the mechling scream and howl in agony as his audials were blasted, but it also seemingly made the entire salvage yard shudder as if suffering a minor earthquake. Items rattled noisily on their shelves.

Frostbite, unable to hear it, nonetheless felt his very frame tremble as the sound waves passed through him. Now he understood her request. If he hadn't shut off his audials he, too, would be howling in pain as they were assaulted. Her photoharp _was_ a weapon, and a devastating one at that.

Eventually the chord faded somewhat, along with Chop Shop's screams. By the time it faded completely, the little mechling was on the ground, two legs covering his audials, body trembling slightly as he emitted little whimpering noises. His whole body language was begging, pleading – no more attacks. He wouldn't fight back. He just wanted the agonizing pain his audials were suffering to stop.

Charity stood in place for a moment, plainly resisting the urge to let her tears flow at such a spark-aching sight. Her whole field was dim from guilt, tiny, faint glyphs for apology and mutual pain flickering in and out like phantoms. Not even Frostbite was immune to such a sight, and he let out a small whimper as his re-activating audials picked up Chop Shop's tiny sounds. After a few seconds she magnetically attached the instrument-turned-sonic-weapon to her hip with a shaking hand, its safeties re-engaged.

Then, to Frostbite's surprise, she slowly approached the spider mechling and knelt down in front of him, reaching out and gently laying a hand on his quivering body.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you." murmured the femme. "But I couldn't let you possibly hurt Denny and Russell by letting your other gestalt mates out of stasis. I-I didn't want anyone to get hurt, and in the process I myself hurt someone. Will you accept my apology, Chop Shop? I never intended for you to get hurt."

Chop Shop looked up at her in shock, not quite believing what he was hearing coming from her through his aching, ringing audials. An Autobot who was outright and openly apologizing to him after attacking him, an apology that sounded completely genuine at that? Autobots didn't whole-sparkedly say they were sorry after taking down a Decepticon fugitive with whatever weapon or means they used. This was...not something he'd been expecting.

* _Who the bleedin' scrap are ye and what's yer malfunction?_ * a cockney-accented voice demanded over short-band radio.

She managed a small smile at the oddly charming accent, then introducing herself and saying she was a medic from Iacon and offering to tend to him until such time as his pain receptors recovered from her sonic attack. She had been the one to inflict the damage after all, so she thought it was only right that she correct it. It was the least she could do for him in return for harming him.

The little spider mechling stared at her as though unable to process what she had just said. He looked rather like a confused turbo-fox being told a new command. He could understand the words she was saying, but as of yet her offer might as well have been in a foreign language – like looking at a word while knowing the definition of it, but not truly knowing what it meant in context.

* _But...I'm a Decepticon. I'm a thief. We all are. All of us are robbers, and I've been trying to bust my mates outta the pod ever since they were put in a couple weeks ago. Stole a bunch of parts tryin'a cobble together a ship to go home, hurt members of the yellow copper's team. And you'd just...overlook that?_ *

"My pacifistic and healer's vows don't differentiate between political factions, Chop Shop. I treat any and all who come into the clinic I work at, regardless of their acts or their beliefs. Same thing applies here. I've actually treated more than a few Decepticons in my career as a medic, namely because Autobot physicians have a bad reputation, especially in Iacon, of refusing them care."

He blinked. * _Oh. Um. Well, then. I-I suppose getting treated by a pretty gal such as yourself wouldn't be so bad. Just keep your crazy wild dog offa me till then and we'll call it even, eh?_ *

Frostbite overheard this comment of his and growled angrily, heckles rising, but a sharp glance from Charity silenced him in an instant. Stunned, he lowered his heckles and sat down on his haunches, though his audials remained pinned back, and his icy blue optics were narrowed to mere slits in suspicion. Instinctively he sensed helping this criminal in any way would not be a good idea. However, he did believe in the concept of good deeds eventually being paid back. Chop Shop may, at some unknown time in the future, pay back the femme for her help. Granted there was a lot of emphasis on the "may" bit. All that depended on if Chop Shop were an honorable sort who believed in paying back debts. As an expert thief and con-mech by trade, that didn't seem very likely to him. Such a profession revolved around lying and backstabbing.

But then again, Chop Shop may in fact value intrinsic honesty and kindness, since it was so hard to come by.

Charity got up from her kneeling position, saying: "Stay here. I'll go get some things from my kit. Frostbite? Stick with him. I'll do my best to keep the humans away from here. Safer that way."

[Hm. Alright. I still think this is a bad idea.]

She smilingly rolled her optics at him: "Just sit there and don't bite him, okay? I'll be right back."

* _Whoa, whoa, whoa! You're just gonna leave me here with this guy?_ *

"Only for a few kliks. Calm down. He won't hurt you." She paused mid-step and turned back to look at him, a spurt of mischief glittering in her jade optics. "So long as you don't provoke him."

With that warning she vanished in the direction of her make-shift medical bay.

Frostbite turned his attention to the little mechling, acute pleasure in his own icy blue optics. He let out a low growl.

*... _I'm gonna die, aren't I?_ * whimpered Chop Shop.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Again, a two-parter (more like a one-and-a-half parter, really). This little sub story here is going to have some plot ramifications in the future, just so you guys know, so I'm putting a helluva lot of effort into this.**

 ***Note 1: I don't see Chop Shop as inherently a "bad guy". He's just a thief, and need I remind you guys that Slipstream and Jetstorm were also thieves before Drift found them and helped them turn their lives around. So in my head-canon there is a distinct possibility of Chop Shop pulling a Knockout and changing sides at some point, mainly because it might be more beneficial to him.**

 ***Note 2: Frostbite is, by nature, a hunter. So he enjoys the thrill of the hunt much like Kraven the Hunter does, though he never kills his prey unless they're scraplets. He has a strict code of ethics when hunting, but that doesn't keep him from enjoying himself while chasing down prey. So while he acts a lot more like his terrestrial wolf counterpart here, he still retains his civility and refinement.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Price of Freedom

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 15**

* * *

Charity was quick to slip into her forming medical bay, grab her trusty medical kit, and then slip away. She did not want to be seen by Denny or his son for fear of rousing their suspicions. They didn't know a lot about Cybertronian medical tools, but they were perceptive enough to know that the tools in her hands were used for medical purposes and would begin to become curious as to why she had them on her and where she was going with them. The femme medic appreciated their inherent curiosity, but in this case it might actually be dangerous for them to follow her or ask questions.

Keeping secrets was not in her nature, but she was able to dismiss the little lie, albeit very, very hesitantly, as a necessity to keep them safe. After Chop Shop's audials were patched up, and she and Frostbite decided what to do with him, then perhaps she would reveal the truth to them. No, not perhaps – she would. It was only decent for her to do so, and it was the right thing to do. Internally she hoped this might negate her earlier moral transgressions of harming and lying, but deep down she knew such negation was a lost cause. She had broken her vows as a pacifist and a healer, and there was no going back and reversing that.

It was all she could do to keep the tears inside the coolant ducts in her optics as she darted back to where Chop Shop waited under the close, icy watch of Frostbite. In her mind's optic, she was a traitor of the worst kind. One transgression of her morals was bad enough, but _two_ successively? What was she becoming? She didn't want to be a warrior. She wanted to stay a pacifist and a healer, but knowing herself how cruel fate could sometimes be she knew that would not forever remain the case.

At that sobering though, a few tears of coolant trickled out from her optics, released at last from their confinement. She didn't even bother to wipe them away. Only the understanding that she was here to help and not harm, and was here for perhaps some greater purpose, kept her from collapsing and breaking down entirely. It was her purpose to be the compassion for the group, to help them see from her perspective – that violence was not always the best way of solving issues brought up by different views. Sometimes the best way to solve a problem was to simply talk it out.

But she hadn't talked it out. She had attacked.

' _Primus. What have I become...?_ '

* * *

By the time she reached Chop Shop and Frostbite, the femme's tears had dried up, leaving only the faintly sweet whiff of coolant chemicals as lingering testimony of her internal grievances. Hiding it from the keen olfactory sensors of a Predacon she knew was impossible, but she at least tried to maintain some of her composure for the sake of the mechling combiner.

Judging from the worried glitter in the Canipid's icy blue optics as she approached him it was clear he sensed her pain and sympathized with her. No doubt he could smell the dried tears and thus knew she had been crying. Some of the agony in her spark faded when Frostbite emitted a low whine and gently nuzzled her lower leg with his snout, his field intermingling with her own and carrying glyphs for kindness, mercy, and understanding. She did not thank him aloud, but his gesture was thanked by a simple scratch behind the audials, a soft smile forming.

* _There ya are!_ * Chop Shop exclaimed, evident relief in his voice. Being left alone with a Predacon was not something he wanted to prolong, regardless of whether or not said Predacon was friendly and inherently civil.

Charity knelt and opened her kit, quickly drawing out a few small tools. She then gestured for Chop Shop to come forward. He did, and she began to work on his tiny, damaged audials without further delay, mentally appreciative of having the foresight to keep her mini-con specific tools. She was always one to think ahead and plan for anything, but her sense of urgency might've resulted in her leaving behind some needed things. Luckily that hadn't happened.

Chop Shop found himself fascinated by this gentle Autobot femme. She didn't believe in fighting, she believed in implicit honesty, and she was a healer by choice. He had half a mind to say she more fit the profile of a priestess or a femme monk and not a medic. There was even an aura she had, one that exuded comfort and kindness. Her compassion was also _blind_ – she didn't care about differing political views. All were lives to be protected in her optics. In that regard she seemed more of a Neutral than an Autobot, but her inborn kindness was decidedly Autobot.

After a minute or two of silent work she said she had done all she could for him, asking him how his audials felt and functioned.

* _Well, they work. That's all I really care 'bout._ *

He made to skitter off, but Frostbite snarled and blocked his path, fangs bared and audials pinning back. The mechling combiner balked at the larger wolf-former and wisely backed away from him.

"Chop Shop, I...I can't let you go. I don't know you very well, and I won't let you hurt anyone. I don't want to believe Autobot political propaganda, but Decepticons are guilty of very despicable acts against life. Just look at what they did during the War. Autobots were guilty of it, too, but Decepticon atrocities are on much larger scales and, as far as I can infer, they felt no remorse over such acts."

* _...Yer gonna put me in that pod, aren't ye?_ *

Charity hesitated, dropping her gaze as she visibly debated. Helping him and then putting him in stasis indefinitely would make her seem like a hypocrite, and that was the last thing she was. But at the same time she held an obligation as a protector of life. Chop Shop, while not acting the part of a sadistic killer, might still pose a threat to Earth's indigenous population, though granted in a much lesser extent than someone like, say, Megatron had been.

Eventually she sighed. Her helm slowly shook.

"No. I'm not."

Frostbite did an almost hilarious double take on hearing this, his attention on Chop Shop removed entirely for the moment. His audials pricked straight up, his blue optics were as wide and round as they could physically go. He looked like a blade horn caught in the searchlights.

[Charity! You can't be serious! You're just going to let him go?!]

"No, Frostbite. I'm not going to "just let him go" as you put it. I'm letting him go under very specific, well-defined conditions."

[Such as?]

"For starters, he will have to promise to keep a low profile. He will also have to stay out of trouble as much as his kleptomania allows. I know that telling a kleptomaniac not to steal is like telling a healer to ignore a hurt patient, so I know I can't tell him not to steal at all. But I can limit the thieving to minor things. That means no stealing things like rocket fuel and other such hazardous materials. I don't think anyone would notice small things like scrap metal, do you? He can't do anything with it, but it satisfies his kleptomania. He must also promise not to join up with Steeljaw's pack."

[And you expect him to obey?]

"I'm not expecting. I'm just giving him a healthier, less dangerous outlet. Basically I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, which is something you don't seem willing to give I might add. For hurting him as badly as I did, I think this is the least I can do to apologize. Besides, if we don't let him go and have the chance to make use of that second chance, we will never know if he is capable of moral change."

Frostbite's audials pinned back. [I don't like this. Seems like an experiment destined to go wrong. But arguing with you is pointless. You seem pretty set.]

She turned her attention back to Chop Shop. "Well? Does that sound like an agreeable compromise for your freedom?"

* _Ye release my gestalt from stasis, ye got yerself a deal. Same conditions apply to them._ *

"Very well."

[Charity...]

The femme cut off his complaint with a stern look. She knew what he was worried about, and that was explaining the sudden absence of a captured convict from his stasis pod. She would handle the explanations. If anyone would take the fall for this decision if it went horribly wrong, she would. And Frostbite wasn't taking into account how open-minded Bumblebee, Smokescreen, and Counterforce – the three authority figures of the squadron – really were. Give them a suitable, logical argument and they would be able to see what it really meant and not leap to wrong conclusions based on inaccurate assumptions. They'd give _her_ the benefit of the doubt just as she was giving the benefit of the doubt to Chop Shop.

[Alright. Fine. I'll keep the humans busy while you let him out. I still say this is a bad idea. Don't say I didn't warn you.]

"Thank you, Frostbite." Charity said, smiling, stroking his helm.

Frostbite emitted a low rumbling noise and padded off, lowering his snout to the ground as he tracked the humans.

As soon as he was gone from their sights, the femme motioned for Chop Shop to follow her. They took a back route to the stasis pods in order to avoid Denny and his son, the spider mechling scuttling along at her heel struts like a strange, multi-limbed turbo-fox. That he was capable of following orders and suggestions was a good sign to her. It meant there was a very good chance he would uphold his end of the deal.

In a short time they reached the pod containing the remaining, still-combined members of Chop Shop's gestalt, his faceplates frozen in a silent scream as if he were seeing the Fallen or the Unmaker in his dreams on an endless, looping cycle that refused to end. Charity's spark wrenched anew at the painful sight. Any creature in pain she sympathized with, no matter their faction, beliefs, or even their species. Suffering, in her mind, was a preventable thing.

She reached for the panel, but was stopped when the spider mechling at her heel struts asked a rather poignant question:

* _Why are ye doing this? What have ye got to gain out of it?_ *

The femme looked down at him then, a sad but hopeful little smile blooming on her lip-plates. He was struck by how ethereal, how other-worldly Charity looked just then, like a priestess of old brought back to life. He had to admit how astonishingly, breath-takingly lovely she was, with golden streams of sunlight lighting her frame up and that beautiful, soft smile illuminating her faceplates. It seemed, somehow, that she didn't belong in this world, but elsewhere, above it all. There was just something about her that was different.

"I've nothing material to gain from this, Chop Shop. I'm doing this as a gesture of good faith to someone who I believe is deserving of a second chance. I only ask that you don't make me regret this decision."

Her hand then continued towards the panel, and she began typing in the unlocking sequence unique to that particular pod. She felt no remorse for this act. She only felt pity to the mech entrapped inside. She knew better than most what happened when gestalt mates were cut off, left isolated from each other. More often than not it resulted in the gestalt member sinking into such a deeply depressed state that their sparks simply snuffed out. And she was not about to let that happen. Combiner teams were not meant to be separated for great lengths of time. It was medically dangerous.

By letting him out, letting him link back up, she was, in effect, saving his life – far more than the stasis pod was. She was sparing him an untimely suicide cascade.

There was a heavy click as the locks on the pod disengaged, the curved, bulletproof glass sliding into a recess, followed by a soft hiss as cryogenic gasses flowed out and impacted the hot afternoon air. Chop Shop remained immobile for a moment or two. Then he began to stir, his four yellow optics shuttering a few times to test their functionality. They quickly came to rest on Charity, not even straying an inch as the spider mechling at her heels changed forms and became his missing arm.

"Test your motor relays for me real quick. Cryo-stasis can sometimes leave a mech or femme unusually stiff in the limbs; can make transforming a bit painful until it wears off."

Chop Shop nodded, carefully wiggling his digits and stretching his arms and legs. There was a slight stiffness in them, but it was scarcely noticeable. He probably hadn't been in there long enough for such stiffness to come about. Then he began to extricate himself from his prison, his gait a bit unsteady, forcing him to grip the sides of the pod for support. Charity suggested that perhaps it might be easier to walk if he wasn't linked up.

Taking her advice with surprising swiftness, Chop Shop seemed to fall apart at the main joints, his arms, legs, and helm reverting to copies of one another. Her guess proved right – each gestalt member was now perfectly steady on their multiple legs.

"Remember our deal, combiner. You stay out of trouble, and we won't give you any. Understand? You break your promise, no matter how small the violation, and you go straight back into that pod – _all_ of you. Am I clear on that?"

* _Aye, lass. We give our words. Don't we, mates?_ *

A murmur of agreement swept through the gestalt, helms bobbing in near unison. She was a little taken aback by how solemn each of them looked. Then, nodding to one another, they scurried off towards the wall nearest her. They quickly vanished over it and into the wilderness beyond, her soft smile still there, but her jade optics troubled – not over Chop Shop, but over how precisely she would explain herself to the others when they got back. Some of them might not be too happy with her.

With that thought still going through her processor, she turned off the comm. filter, feeling more than a little guilty that she'd used it in the first place.

* * *

 _Present..._

Bumblebee and Counterforce drove along a fair distance behind the other racers, the golden and silver Lexus taking his turn lugging Grimlock behind him on the flatbed trailer (Windstorm had offered, his overall horsepower being greater, but the Praxian had insisted) while Bumblebee hauled Vertebreak along on a medical berth converted into a jury-rigged flatbed courtesy of Fix-It and Windstorm. The Dinobot had been able to participate in the race for a little while, but once they'd all gotten near the exit from the subways, he'd had to begrudgingly forfeit lest he be seen by passerby.

All were now speeding along the outer loop highway that led around the outskirts of the city and snaked back into the foothills where the salvage yard was. So far they'd been fortunate not to run into any highway patrol cars, but even the rambunctious Sideswipe and Backdraft were keeping an optic on their pace. Sentenza flew above them all, Zodiac riding on her canopy and thus concealed by her cloaking field. From the shrieks of merriment coming from the two femmes and the Evora shooting along beneath them it was pretty clear she was performing aerial acrobatics – and the Avioid was loving every minute of the whole thing.

Counterforce had just finished explaining to the other mech how he had managed to defeat Vertebreak, and it left the former scout understandably awestruck. Outwitting a genius scientist was one thing (that was easy enough if the opponent wasn't really a warrior), but out _fighting_ him when he was moving faster than a bullet? In addition to all his other myriad talents and qualities, he was also an expert swordsmech? What _couldn't_ this mech do?

"Guys! Careful!" the former scouted warned.

No one seemed to take notice, laughing and playing as they were.

"Why do I bother?" wondered the yellow and black vehicle curiously after a bout of silence.

"Why do you bother with what?" Counterforce inquired. Bumblebee sounded annoyed, but not overly so. He sounded more baffled than anything.

"Being the leader. They never really listen to me unless it's, like, a crisis situation. So why do I even bother?"

Counterforce drew nearer to him, letting his field mingle with the lieutenants, glyphs for sympathy and comfort flickering like candles. If he wasn't constrained to his vehicle form, he would've been smiling softly. He understood the former scout's irritation now. Out of everyone present, he knew what constituted a leader. Both he and Smokescreen had served under Optimus Prime himself during the War. Being overlooked in that regard was undoubtedly a bit irksome. He was trying his hardest to keep the Prime's legacy going and no one ever seemed to notice.

"Because you care. Most military leaders don't bother getting to know their soldiers on a personal level. _You_ do. It's not that they don't treat you as a leader because they don't see you as one, Bumblebee. I think it's because they view you more as an equal than a superior, someone who can understand them. And that has to count for something, doesn't it?"

Bumblebee fell silent at that, feeling a bit appeased at the Praxian's wise words, and not for the first time did his spark wrench painfully at the similarities he held with Optimus. He had his fast-working, analytical mind, his empathetic nature, but most importantly he shared the Prime's _compassion_. He had yet to see the Praxian lose his temper or say anything harsh to _anyone_.

"And hey, if they ever give you any trouble, don't hesitate to come to me over it. I'll help you get them back in line." Counterforce chuckled lightly.

Both lapsed into companionable silence for a few miles, listening to the shrieks of laughter from the femmes and Smokescreen, the playful, witty badinage between Strongarm, Backdraft, and Sideswipe as they tried to outmaneuver each other, and the roar of their own engines. They were soon lost deeply in their own thoughts, only to be drawn back out when another ringing peal of laughter sounded out above them coupled with the high-pitched scream of a jet engine as the Seeker femme shot past.

Hearing Sentenza of all femmes laugh like a joyous sparkling was a little surprising, but slagged if her laughter wasn't spark-lifting to listen to. It was a little raspy in accordance with her unique voice, but oh it was just full of _life_. Being out in the light of day, letting sunlight bathe her – it made such a world of difference on her personality. Just as she was transformed under the pale light of the moon, so too was she changed into someone different when exposed to the warming rays of the sun.

These reassuring sounds were then interrupted by what sounded like soft snoring coming from Counterforce's flatbed. Both mechs then broke out laughing themselves on realizing Grimlock had apparently, tuckered out from all the running and getting pounded earlier, decided to take a short cat nap on the ride back to the salvage yard.

"Any word from Charity yet?" Bumblebee finally asked, tone growing suddenly more serious.

Counterforce did not respond verbally, emitting only a low rumble of his engine as he tried to contact the femme medic. He'd tried just before exiting the subways and had gotten no response, so his hopes weren't exactly at an all time high. Nonetheless, he pinged her comm. link. He would keep on trying to contact her all the way to the salvage yard if he had to. No one would be able to fully relax until they knew the femme medic was alright.

His field pulled taught on receiving no response at first, but then:

[Counterforce?] a very subdued, shy, barely audible, and incredibly guilty sounding voice answered at long last. There was a detectable current of worry, too.

Relief flooded the Praxian's body and that of everyone in hearing range as he cried aloud: "Charity!" Without hesitation he linked in Bumblebee and Smokescreen's communicators to form an impromptu conference call. They then linked everyone else.

[Oh, thank Primus you're all okay! I feared the worst!] Her voice cracked under the emotional stress she was laboring under. [Where are you? Did you guys manage to catch the prisoner?]

"We're fine, Charity. We got the 'Con. We're bringing him in." Smokescreen reassured.

Bumblebee added his two cents: "You wouldn't believe the amount of crazy we had to deal with for this one. Body snatching, cyber-grafting, hidden labs, two captured team mates turned into lab rats, stolen velocity cascader, Counterforce being a total boss, and Windstorm pulling a Sherlock Holmes on us – not specifically in that order, but yeah. It was pretty insane." He snorted a little in wry amusement at just how absurd the recount of events sounded when said out loud.

[Body snatching? _Cyber-grafting?_ Who in the name of Solus Prime were you dealing with?!]

"I'd advise getting onto the Alchemor's prisoner manifest. Look up a mech named "Vertebreak" just so you have some background on him. We'll explain everything when we get there." suggested Fix-It.

"I just wanna know why you put your comm. on filter mode." Sideswipe demanded. "We really could've used you. Afterwards, I mean. I mean, after we caught the 'Con and...stuff. Having a trained medic would've helped things, y'know."

A weary, guilty sigh came from the other end: [Look, I'm so, so sorry about that, but there was a bit of a...erm...situation here at the salvage yard that demanded by full attention. I'll explain when you all get back. Just promise me that you'll try to understand. Y-You may not like what I did. Strongarm especially won't like it, since it kind of went against regulations. Please, please don't be mad at me. I just did what I thought was right.]

There was a soft murmur of voices as every Cybertronian promised they wouldn't judge her prematurely. They understood her intentions were always pure even if they went technically against the status quo of the law. From the sounds of things she hadn't "broken" the law per say, as in having committed a crime, but she had done something that Strongarm might not be too happy about. But then again, the cadet was never really happy with choices unless they coincided with her little rule-book word for word, so there _was_ that in Charity's defense.

[Thank you. Drive safe. I'll see you soon. Charity out.]

With that, the comm. link conference call fell silent and they continued on their way, each privately wondering what it was the gentle femme medic had done. But of course, that didn't last for very long up front. Within less than five minutes Sideswipe spoke up to the cadet and the stunt biker racing along side him:

"Hey, Backdraft!"

"Yeppers?"

"You owe me a cube of high grade when we get back!"

"Wait, Backdraft smuggled high grade with him? And you two dolts made a bet over it?" Strongarm exclaimed incredulously. "Could I point out just how wrong that is? Smuggling around high grade is anywhere from a misdemeanor to a felony, depending on how much is in the possession of the target, and don't even get me started on the ethics of betting. You're lucky I don't pull you over and arrest you right this klik!"

"...Okay, to be fair that bet revolved around whether or not Zodiac or us would get caught. Completely harmless, no bad ethics involved. Just us crazy mechs screwin' 'round with possibilities." Backdraft argued. "Seeing as she and Sides got nabbed, and yet I never did – oh, and you're welcome for that by the way – I'd say you deserve half a cube. No more. It's only fair, Sides."

Sideswipe groaned comically "Ugh. Fine!" but conceded. The stunt biker was only being fair in his dealing, and he _was_ getting some high grade out of their bet either way, just not as he'd hoped he would get. Half a cube of high grade was still better than no high grade at all. And after going through what he had at the hands of Vertebreak, he felt he needed a pick-me-up badly.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yay! Got another chapter done! Also, check my DA page (Kestrel-ShadowTalon) for updates revolving around this story. I got some ideas for two mini-series going in my head, and I think you guys would enjoy them a lot. Go! I command thee, loyal viewers! (Just kidding. I don't give commands. I just suggest. But seriously though; go look at it. xD)**

 ***Note 2: BUH. COLLEGE. :( Love astronomy class though. Pop quiz was to name 10 nebulae...I named 15. All from memory. LOL! Muahah! :3**


	16. Chapter 16: And The Meaning of Kindness

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 16**

* * *

Their first sight when pulling into the salvage yard's rumbling gates was Charity standing in the center of the so-termed "commons" area looking very upset, incredibly guilty, and abnormally nervous all at once. Her hands wrung anxiously, her gaze glued on their approaching forms. They all noted curiously she was never able to keep optic contact with any one of them for more than a klik. It was as if she felt she were on trial or something. Her whole behavior was that of someone fighting the urge to cry and plead for forgiveness at the pedes of a judge.

"Charity? You alright?" Bumblebee asked gently.

Her expression became far more guilt-ridden in appearance, jade optics dropping down to stare at the ground. One pede shuffled idly, kicking a small rock away from where she was standing. After what looked like an internal argument with herself, those selfsame jade optics lifted back up to look at him evenly, though the guilt was still there, clinging to her demeanor in the same manner of a sickness. There was sadness there. Resignation, too, but over what none present could say.

They all remembered her words on the drive back: not to judge her actions too harshly, to give her a chance to explain herself. Coupled with her incredibly guilt-ridden expression that could only mean that she had done something that the others might not be too happy about. But what exactly had she done? Nothing in the salvage yard looked disturbed, at least from what they could see from the commons.

Frostbite padded in then, the Canipid carrying Denny and Russell on his back. On seeing her, he let out a low whine, letting the two humans off before trotting over to her and rubbing up against her leg like an overgrown house cat. Such a comforting act seemed to help the femme a little. She thanked him by petting him on the helm. He then sat back on his haunches, looking at the others with a flash of defiance in his blue optics, fangs bared in a badly concealed threat.

" _Say something harsh to her. I dare you. You do it, you'll regret it._ " Frostbite's optics seemed to silently challenge.

Grimlock approached her slowly, blue optics awash in confusion and concern. Seeing her so upset gave him a bad feeling, but slagged if he also didn't feel sorry for her as well. She looked about ready to burst into tears. It was taking almost all of his willpower not to crush her in a friendly hug. In his opinion she needed one real bad. He'd never seen her this upset. Frankly, none of them had.

"Charity? What's wrong, femme?"

As he watched, a single little tear of coolant trickled out of her left optic, sliding down her faceplates. Then, before he or anyone could think to react, the gentle medic leaned forward, letting her forehelm rest against his thick chestplates for a moment. Grimlock was able to feel her trembling ever so slightly even if he couldn't see her do so. Not knowing what else to do, and feeling it was what she wanted, he put a massive clawed hand on her slender shoulder in an attempt to steady her. He was pleased to note that it appeared to work, even if only by a little bit.

"C'mon, femme. Just tell us what happened." urged the Dinobot as gently as he could.

And so, thus encouraged, but voice quavering regardless, she began...

* * *

Elsewhere, in an old, abandoned steel mill on the western side of the Bay and nestled in the foothills of the mountains, a crisis that had started a few days ago was still on-going.

On hearing from Steeljaw that the dreaded Nightdemon now prowled this region, Clampdown had devolved into a mass of skittish nerves. He refused to leave the steel mill and constantly mumbled "She's here, we're dead. She's here, we're dead..." under his breath as he scuttled around outside, ever on the lookout for the black huntress. Even the normally confident Fracture and Underbite were on edge, putting themselves on guard and monitor duties during nighttime hours – if for no other reason than to keep Clampdown's muttering and scuttling from driving them both loopy.

Only Steeljaw and Thunderhoof showed little outward reaction to the Nightdemon's presence, simply demanding that all should stay vigilant when wandering outside, especially when it was dark out. Being able to see in the dark wouldn't save them from her, as she could reportedly cloak herself from sight. Their only defense against her was that she had no idea where they were hiding out.

Clampdown had, on this particular night, inadvertently brought up some pointed questions before Thunderhoof, at last growing tired of his insensate muttering and scuttling, knocked him out with one swift strike to the helm:

What exactly was she doing here in the first place? What had brought her here? Or, perhaps, _who_ had brought her here?

"You think she somehow got wind of the Alchemor crash? Through the Council maybe, or one of her contacts?" Fracture wondered, leaning against the wall and busily sharpening his blade off to one side of the massive central chamber. Airazor and Divebomb were both recharging on his shoulders, oblivious to the budding debate.

Steeljaw let out a low growl, replying: "Doubtful. When she and those other Autobots captured me they didn't seem to know of the crash until I brought it up. No. Something else, perhaps some _one_ else, brought her and the others here. I don't know what or who, but I intend to find out. If random 'Con hunters and Autobot law officers are going to start randomly showing up here and disrupting my plans...I mean to stop it at the source, _before_ it gets out of hand."

"Yeah. Good luck convincing Crabby over there to go within a hundred kilks o' that place." Underbite grunted, motioning to the unconscious form of Clampdown with one massive paw.

The were-wolf like mech grinned darkly. "Oh, he'll go. I won't give him a choice. I've got a good argument for him: The only good Nightdemon...is a dead one. We kill her, our worries end."

Thunderhoof stared at him in astonishment. Kill the Nightdemon of Kaon, the bane of all criminals big and small on Cybertron? The one who'd gotten within a fiber's width of his base of operations, who'd killed some of his top enforcers and lieutenants seemingly just to send him a message? Was Steeljaw out of his slaggin' processor? Kill the Nightdemon? Hah! Now there was an idea he could legitimately call insane! They might as well take on the Unmaker himself! At least their chances would be a bit better!

He stomped towards the smaller mech, looming over him with red optics burning, and proceeded to argue his decision with true elken stubbornness, the heat in his voice volcanic:

"Do yous has any idea hows many o' my mechs she's _killed,_ Steeljaw? She's taken on and terminated _twelve_ o' my top boys _on her own_ without even s'much as strainin' her systems! She's killed _dozens_ o' my lower rank operators n' jailed a dozen more! She'd _strangled_ a fifth o' my operations befores I was put away! _She's_ da main reason my empire back on Cybertron started ta fold in on itself way before crab-boy here snitched on me! And that's not ta mention she gets help from dat slagged do-gooder Praxian cop friend o' hers! We can't take her on, capisce?! We'll get slaughtered! An' then there goes that precious lil' mission o' yours down da drain pipe!"

If there was one rule in life he abided by, one universal truth he heeded, it was to never, _ever_ cross the Nightdemon's path. Anyone who ever had, well...they hadn't lived to tell about it. No one survived her unless they were ludicrously lucky or she decided to show mercy, and here this crazed mech was saying to do just that – cross her path and take her out. Sticking a knife into that femme scourge's backstrut was about as possible as Steeljaw getting picked as a Prime – meaning in short that it wasn't going to happen.

The point he was trying to make here was this: How did you kill Death?

Answer? You didn't. Death killed _you._

Steeljaw was unmoved by the tractor's argument, his dark smile still there. His tone when he spoke again was cool, calm, and utterly sadistic:

"What if I were to tell you we wouldn't have to fight her? What if I told you we could simply let her destroy herself? We would barely need to lift a digit. All she needs is a little...well, let's just call it ' _incentive_ '. Once we give her that, she'll do the rest of the work herself. And it's funny you should bring up that young Praxian friend of hers, because I think I know just where to get it now..."

* * *

" _You. Did. WHAT?!_ "

That was the first thing Strongarm said when the initial shock had abated. She should've felt guilt over taking such a harsh tone with the gentle medic, but she felt none. Breaking protocols that were mainly regulations and formality was one thing, but freeing a wanted Decepticon convict was on a whole other level. Freeing a prisoner was against basic protocol unless they were on probation or they had been freed by legal means. She was too soft-sparked for her own good. To her, this meant trouble in the long run.

The gentle medic herself took a step back, hangs wringing nervously, helm downcast and optics brimming with guilt. She knew she'd broken protocol and she felt understandably upset about it. She glanced up briefly at Bumblebee, Counterforce, and Smokescreen, but then quickly lowered her gaze once more on noting their shocked, bewildered expressions. At her pedes, Frostbite whined sympathetically before snarling angrily at the cadet, making good on his silent warning and snapping, snarling, growling, and biting in her direction. Strongarm wisely took a step back to avoid his gnashing fangs.

"I-I just...did what I felt was the right thing..." mumbled Charity softly, sliding down into a little hunched sitting position on the ground, a few tears sliding down her faceplates. "You can't ask a medic to let someone die just because they have differing opinions. I wouldn't be much of a medic if I let that happen." Her helm then disappeared between her knees, one hand wrapping around the front of her knees while the other hung limply at her side.

"Please, please don't hate me..." Her voice was nothing more than a desperate whisper.

Bumblebee's startled expression softened noticeably as he shook off his mental stupor. He'd listened to Charity's reasoning in her retelling of events, and on hearing how difficult it had been for her to fight one little gestalt member had made his spark ache in due sympathy. In his mind there was no one in the whole universe who embodied what it meant to be an Autobot better than she did. She hadn't been guided by politics as so many other Iaconians tended to, merely by a desire to help and heal.

"Cadet, stand down. There's no need to take that tone with her."

"But, sir! Protocol regarding prisoners explicitly states that –"

"Military protocol be slagged. _Her_ protocol says to never stand by and watch someone _die_ regardless if they're a 'Bot, a 'Con, a Neutral, or an alien. She was acting in accordance with that. Don't be harsh on her. Understand that, for her, fighting, _hurting_ someone no less, is against her protocols. She broke those personal rules, and it's tearing her up inside. Try and see things from her angle, Strongarm. Can't you see she's on the verge of tears over this? Yelling at her is pointless."

Strongarm winced. "I-yes, sir. Sorry."

Grimlock tried to approach the femme, but apparently Russell had the same idea going in his head. The young human reached out and put a comforting hand on her leg mesh, feeling her slender, dainty frame trembling slightly as she tried to contain her emotions. Seeing Charity so upset – God it hurt. She was just so nice to everyone no matter who they were. And...she'd just done what she felt the was the right thing. Being mad at someone so sweet natured he felt was just wrong on so many levels. She deserved hugs and reassurances, not harsh words or scoldings.

All were faintly surprised when Zodiac reverted to bird form and fluttered down to join the two on the ground, snuggling her helm under the femme's one hand hanging limply at her side, emitting a low, soft, almost melodic purring, crooning noise from her vocalizer. Charity seemed appreciative of this cute little gesture. She lifted her helm out of hiding and began stroking the smooth metal of her cranial armor, a small smile forming as she did so. She had to admit that for someone so naturally shy around people she was quite good with the whole comforting gig. She knew just how to make someone smile.

Smokescreen cracked a grin and joked: "You know, it's time likes this I _swear_ he gave her the wrong beast mode. Pretty sure he meant to make her a cat, but then he was like 'Slaggit! No! Bird! Yes! Bird!' and then he forgot to re-modulate her vocalizer."

The Elite Guardsmech was pleased to see Charity's smile broaden as she forcibly wiped away some of the tears, even letting out a little laugh. She scratched the little mechanical hawk under the chin, resulting in more crooned purring. Frostbite soon joined Zodiac in her mission of comfort, resting his helm on her knees and staring at her with the most adorable "puppy dog look" he could muster, then licking the remnants of her tears away, thus making the femme laugh even more at the somewhat icky yet soothing sensation of his smooth metal tongue brushing over her faceplates.

Frostbite sensed his tactic was working the best and proceeded to lean forwards until Charity was knocked flat onto her back. He kept on licking her as his tail wagged away while the others laughed at the adorable sight of the intimidating wolf-former acting very much like an overgrown turbo-fox pup. Even Strongarm couldn't resist smiling at the sight. She'd never imagined Predacons, Frostbite no less, could be so, well, _cute_.

"Come on, Frostbite! Knock it off already!" Charity pleaded gigglingly, doing her best to shove his helm away and failing hilariously. "I'm okay! I'm better now! Just lemme up!"

The Canipid gave one last lick before drawing back and letting Grimlock help her back to her pedes. She definitely looked better now, and Strongarm looked quite contrite about yelling at her now. This wasn't someone one yelled at under any circumstances. Charity was just too gentle, too innocent for such harshness, and she understood that now. She was like a child – a sweet, innocent little child who loved and cared for all no matter who they were be they ally, enemy, or random stranger. Such blind kindness and compassion, such child-like innocence...it was so very befitting of her. Something like that should be cherished, protected, not destroyed.

"I'm sorry. For yelling. That...that was uncalled for." Strongarm apologized. "You just...it took me by surprise. Again, I'm sorry."

To her relief, Charity smiled at her, saying she accepted the apology and that frankly she'd expected her to be upset over this, even admitting openly that she was more sensitive to the anger of others (which, in point of fact, no one expressed surprise over), but what she said next struck a deeply profound chord to the gathered listeners:

"I believe in doing the right thing Strongarm, even if it isn't always the easiest option. Sometimes the bad choices seem the most tempting due to how easy they are, but in the end that bad decision comes back to haunt you in some way. Right choices? They don't do that. Right choices lighten your conscience; bad ones that are so temptingly easy tend to weigh you down. And I don't feel weighed down over what I did, so I know it was the right one in the end. If I'd left him in there he would've terminated – they all would've. Is killing someone preferable to making them an ally, or at least not having them as an enemy any more?"

"Wise words." Counterforce noted sagely, nodding to himself as a smile formed. Bumblebee and Smokescreen nodded agreement. Everyone else simply looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. Charity had a wisdom to her denied to even the wisest philosopher, even possibly to a Prime. She was able to see and process things in the broadest and narrowest context and see the possible future outcomes of a decision. That was a surprising ability for a medic to have.

"I just can't believe your photoharp is a weapon! I mean, how cool is that?! Why didn't you tell us your 'harp could do that?" Sideswipe demanded with rather ill-timed glee.

Charity's smile faltered and she winced visibly. Sideswipe noticed this flinch and hastily apologized, understanding that using it the way she had had hurt her just as much as the sonic attack had hurt Chop Shop. He visibly resisted the urge to go over and hug her. Regardlessly, sensing he'd been an utterly insensitive aft about the situation, he wordlessly slunk away. Backdraft followed him soon after, and the last anyone saw of the two was Backdraft trying to cheer the red Lamborghini up in his usual chipper fashion, offering to go grab his won half-cube of high grade from his secret stash.

"So that really loud riff sound...was you?" Denny asked gently.

She nodded – a tiny little nod brimming with internal hurt. Her hands started wringing again. Denny and Russell both looked at her, sympathy swimming in their eyes, and before long the older human regained the ability to speak:

"Well, I don't know if this'll mean much, but thanks for the warning. I know you told a little white lie about it, but you had good intentions at heart. We all know that. You were trying to protect us, and I think I speak for the both of us when I say we're real grateful for that."

Her smile returned by a little. "You're welcome. To be honest I was trying to lessen collateral damage to your property as best I could, so that was actually one of the lowest sonic settings. And in truth, I need to tidy up after that performance. A few things were shaken off their shelves or toppled over (sorry about that by the way); I made a bit of a mess of the place, so it's my responsibility to clean it up. Excuse me, please."

She started to head off, but paused when Strongarm offered to help her. The cadet still clearly felt the need to make up for her yelling, and frankly in her mind this would be as good an opportunity as any she was likely to get. Picking up on this with a small, knowing smile, Charity said her help would be much appreciated. In all honesty she didn't really _need_ the help, as the objects disturbed were small and quite light, but she wasn't about to deny Strongarm her chance of better apologizing for her mistake. And thus, together, the two femmes set off on their shared assignment.

Bumblebee looked after them until they were gone from sight, then musing almost inaudibly to himself, expression thoughtful "So that's why you sent her here..."

Realization was beginning to dawn in his optics. He knew now why the gentle medic was here, knew why Optimus had singled her out and sent her over to help him with the breakout. She was here to remind them all what it truly meant to be an Autobot, to show them that kindness spoke far louder than hate and was infinitely stronger. He knew that now. But how did that fit in with that threat Optimus had told him was coming? Sure, having a medic for a dangerous scenario would be useful, but how would kindness help with that? What was he missing?

Smokescreen, who was closest and thus heard his muttered words, eyed him funny, Zodiac mirroring his tilted helm. "Huh?"

But the former scout didn't respond, acting as though he hadn't even heard his inquisitive one-word demand. He simply turned on his heels and walked off, still looking as if lost in thought. Zodiac privately asked her bond-mate what was up with him only to receive a clueless shrug in response. Bumblebee obviously knew something now about Charity, that much he could tell, but he wasn't willing to share it quite yet, most likely because he wanted to be positive before telling anyone. 'Bee was like that. He always liked being certain of things before voicing them.

' _Heh. Not like you, huh?_ ' Zodiac joked, snickering.

Smokescreen rolled his optics and lightly batted her. She gave him one last friendly peck on the audials before flying off.

Sensing the meeting was adjourned, Sentenza transformed with a flourish and switched on her cloaker. She told them she would do some aerial recon to see if she could spot any 'Con prisoners and would get back to them if she found nothing. Everyone took unconscious, wary note of the sun's height in the sky and checked their chronometers. According to both it was around two o'clock. If Sentenza wasn't back in the safety of the yard before sunset, things could get very messy. So far they'd managed to avoid any Nightdemon killings.

"Keep in contact with me, would you? Just so I know what's going on out there." Counterforce insisted politely.

She said she would. He knew simply from her tone that she didn't want anyone to follow her. There were some times the detective just wanted a few hours of quality alone time to do what she wanted to do, whether that be chasing a petty thief or reading a particularly interesting article on a data pad. He respected that. And with that, she screamed off into the skies, her engine soon fading to a distant, forlorn wail.

Everyone else then dispersed into the salvage yard to do whatever it is they wanted to do, but the Praxian remained in the commons gazing up at the puffy white clouds scuttle by in the crisp blue sky. He knew the Seeker would keep her promise to him to check in every now and again. They'd done it before in the field back on Cybertron, especially on night missions. They'd employed this same tactic even when off duty, Counterforce simply talking to her until she slipped into power down. It was he who had helped stop more than a few killings.

But nonetheless, his gaze kept sneaking to check the sun's height. Two o'clock. That meant about four hours or so till sun set. Would Sentenza make it back before then? Or would she be out there in the unknown as she was transformed into the dreaded Nightdemon, gleefully hunting whatever Decepticon she happened across, playing a deadly game of cyber-cat and glitch-mouse with them until she finally ended them? He recalled her vivid nightmare. Reluctantly, he began to wonder...and then worry.

Not knowing what else to do to allay his fears, the Praxian sent up a little prayer to Optimus, hoping against hope the friendly, spectral Prime would help him:

' _I don't know whether you can see everything from up there, but keep an optic on her for me, would you? I don't know what I'd do if I lost her. She means everything to me. All I want to do is keep her safe. Please, just help me. There's something here that's affecting her, and I don't even know what it is or how to stop it. I'm worried, Optimus...please...I-I love her..._ '

* * *

 **Author's Note: Let me just put Steeljaw's plan in perspective here - he knows psychology; he knows how to manipulate others; he knows just enough to know that Counterforce and Sentenza are very close. I won't spill the beans as to what exactly he's got planned, but it's so sly and evil that it would make Starscream, the master of cunning, purr.**

 ***Note 1: Yeah, shorter chapter than usual. Was real busy this week with LF and Comp 1 work. Don't worry. Things pick up again next chapter. :3**


	17. Chapter 17: Double Trouble

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 17**

* * *

Strongarm followed the gentle femme medic as she wove through the isles of antiquities. She had to appreciate for once just how delicate Charity really was, both on the outside and on the inside. Charity wasn't a warrior in even the loosest sense of the word, and she never would be. She was a healer, someone who strove to stop the violence a warrior brought with them, and patch up their wounds after they came back, sometimes even informing their loved ones that the warrior wouldn't be coming back to them. She dealt with the pain, but never caused it.

As they meandered through the salvage yard, Charity would every so often stop to right a fallen object on the ground or place a fallen one back up where it belonged. A few of the items she simply scooched back into their rightful place with a gentle push, nodding and smiling once she was certain everything in the isle looked as it had before the sonic wave. Even things that hadn't been disrupted were set as to be more aesthetically pleasing.

And yet Strongarm did nothing. She simply followed, feeling useless. Charity obviously didn't need her help, but she didn't have the spark to turn her back and leave her to her task. That would just seem...well, rude. And she already felt she'd been rude enough with her. Strongarm didn't want to add to her earlier brusqueness by leaving Charity to do this simple task on her own. She owed her that much for having made her cry not even a full breem ago.

"So...um...do you know any songs on that thing?" wondered the cadet, hoping to break the awkward silence.

Charity looked at her and smiled, affirming that she knew quite a lot actually, many of them from Earth, but just as many were Cybertronian. When she had first listened to a few songs from Earth thanks to a femme friend of hers, she just found the humans' music to be so beautifully complex that she had effectively taught herself the songs in her spare time. She had also discovered that recuperating patients really enjoyed her playing, and in many cases it seemed to speed their recovery. She didn't know why it did, though. No one in any of the Iaconian clinics did. She'd even tried one or two in Crystal City when she'd been transferred there for a while. They'd never reached a conclusion over how the "variable frequency sonic healing" as they had termed it actually, well, worked.

It was after that she had decided not to question it and simply accept it as a special gift from Primus, because if the super geniuses couldn't explain it then, frankly, in her mind, no one could.

All this she said while still righting disturbed antiquities, or simply organizing them into better arrangements. Denny wouldn't mind minor adjustments to his collection she knew. They were hardly noticeable, but she liked things to be pleasing to the optic even if none of it was ever going to be sold. The human was a collector, but not a seller. That didn't mean his collection couldn't look a little more organized and professional, though. And she felt she owed him a little for disrupting it in the first place.

Strongarm found herself incapable of arguing Charity's simple logic. She wasn't as spiritual as the medic was, but some things in their lives couldn't be explained any other way. Gifts from him weren't rare, but they weren't exactly commonplace either. He had to be mindful of who he gave them to, had to make sure they would use such power responsibly. Charity's gift was a little unusual though – healing through the power of music? Sure it was useful to her in more ways than one, but why that particular combination? It seemed a little... _strange_ to be totally honest. Not random, just peculiar.

They continued in their rounds through the isles. Knowing the cadet wanted to help and not feel as though she was useless, she feigned having trouble with a toppled lawn ornament made of high quality cement that resembled a winged humanoid blowing triumphantly on a bugle. Strongarm thus went to her side and easily heaved the statue back upright, noting that thankfully it hadn't sustained any damage when it had fallen over. The medic had evidently been truthful on saying the instrument had been set to the lowest possible sonic setting – not that she hadn't thought Charity was lying about that. Charity was singularly and beautifully transparent in her honesty.

"I think that's everything. Come on. Let's get back to the others. I need to give Sideswipe and Zodiac a good look-over to make sure Windstorm and Fix-It did everything right. Cyber-grafting is a complicated procedure, and I'm not sure sure the guys are experts on it. They're both smart, but I'd much rather be safe than sorry when it comes to that sort of repair job – especially when there's a specialized bio-mechanism involved."

The cadet nodded agreement even if she felt such a check-up was a bit unnecessary. Both Zodiac and Sideswipe had seemed just fine to her on the way back, laughing it up with the others as one raced on the ground and the other hitched a ride on Sentenza. But she did appreciate the medic's liking of being a hundred percent certain. That was one trait they shared.

As they walked, Charity smiled, brought out her photoharp, and began to strum a lively tune, her voice losing a small fraction of its former sweetness and becoming a shade more tomboyish in its intonation. She didn't start singing, electing instead to continue humming, but even without words to accompany the strums it was a lively beat that just seemed slightly at odds with the medic's gentle, calming personality. The fast-paced tempo made it seem like something Sideswipe, Backdraft, or Zodiac might listen to. Regardless of that, she had to admit that it was rather catchy – upbeat and cheerful.

"Sideswipe was right. You really have a knack for that thing."

Charity smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

Counterforce remained in the common staring up at the sky wondering whether or not he had been heard. This wasn't the sort of thing he did on a day-to-day basis, and he never claimed to be an expert on such spiritual matters, but he was growing desperate. He still had no idea what was causing the night code's increased violence, and Bumblebee wasn't offering anything in the way of clarification. That in itself was troubling to no end. Bumblebee knew more about this world than anyone else present, yet he was keeping information to himself that could prove useful in helping her. He had voiced a desire to prevent Nightdemon killings, but he didn't seem willing to help bring that desire about by telling whatever it was that he knew.

Why? Did he truly know, or was he keeping it secret for another reason? Because he clearly knew _something_.

Shaking his helm, he started to walk off. Standing here drowning himself in his own worried thoughts wasn't very productive. What _was_ productive was staying on the line with Sentenza to make sure nothing happened to her. But calling her so soon after she'd left...that seemed a little nosy and faintly pessimistic to him. Sentenza was clever in her own way, more than capable of handling herself, and usually it was _Sentenza_ calling _him_ , not the other way around. Calling her might make her a bit upset. He'd wait just a little longer. Surely she couldn't have run into problems already, and it _was_ broad daylight out – no need to fear the night code overtaking her.

...Right?

He left the commons, normally keen processor for once at a loss. A sense of fear and dread slowly but steadily built in his spark as the minutes ticked by. Unable to stay in once place, he began pacing the perimeter of the yard. Still the Seeker did not contact him. Still he reigned in the overpowering urge to rush out and find her. On an impulse he looked up, though he knew full well he would see nothing but open skies.

' _Come on, detective. Why haven't you called in yet?_ '

* * *

"Hmph. Persuasive isn't he?"

The tall red and blue mech looked at the mini-con Prime across from him curiously as the little pool of mist before him evaporated, his expression consciously innocent. The smaller Prime had his optics fixated on him in a piercing gaze that could have bored through titanium, though nothing could be gleaned from them. Much to his consternation, Optimus found it nigh on impossible to determine whether or not Micronus was being sarcastic in his comment or wholly sincere. But that soon changed when a disapproving, faint frown formed on the mini-con's lip-plates. Glyphs for similar disappointment and more than a few for mild annoyance flickered in and out of his tiny but powerful field.

Looks like he'd been found out. Drat.

"Optimus, need I remind you that we have far more pressing issues at hand than dealing with a relational entanglement frankly more complex than black hole gravitational physics."

He wasn't fazed. Retorting smartly, he used Micronus's own words against him:

"And need I remind you that it was _you_ who did not want Sentenza on Earth in the first place even though I accounted for it. Unicron's physical presence makes such a concern understandable. In that sense she is a liability. A danger. I will also remind you that Counterforce and Charity are there to assist in keeping the Nightdemon personality contained. But no matter how talented or able they are, they simply cannot be everywhere at once, and planting a tracer or anything of the like on her frame? That would do nothing but incense her. She wants others to trust her, desperately I might add, but at the same time she herself knows she shouldn't be trusted by anyone. Imagine what that's like for her. She wants friends, wants others to like her, but she is forced to remain isolated."

Micronus's frown deepened as he replied: "She shouldn't be trusted. Unicron is influencing her. You saw yourself what happened in the cavern. He very nearly got to her. How much more proof do you need that she's a danger to them – a time bomb just waiting to go off?"

Optimus frowned back, blue optics narrow and hard as flint. He took full advantage of his greater height and heavier build to loom over the smaller Prime like a particularly fragged off mountain. Hiding his annoyance before now had been easy, but Micronus's short-sighted and frankly quite hateful opinion of Sentenza was beginning to make him indignant. Bumblebee had put it perfectly in the cavern: she wasn't a monster. She was just confused. Torn. Unsure of who she really was. Who was he to judge her? What right did anyone have to judge her who did not know her intimately?

The words exchanged between the two echoed in his mind:

' _Don't listen to him, detective. You're not a monster.'_ Bumblebee's voice had been hard but gentle.

Vividly he recalled the loathing, the hopelessness in the Seeker's voice and optics as she had replied back:

' _Aren't I? I've killed others before now, killed them without mercy. My hands are stained with the Energon of dozens of victims. If I'm not a monster, then what am I?_ '

Those words of hers seemed to be a riddle with no answer. It was a question he himself had been mulling over since hearing her voice it. He knew – everyone knew she wasn't a monster. A monster would not protect innocents. A monster would not try her best to keep her dark half caged in the deepest recesses of her spark. But if she wasn't a monster, then what exactly did that make her?

Micronus backed away a little from the larger Prime on feeling his field light up like a bonfire, glyphs for anger and indignation dancing in it like super-heated embers. He wasn't normally intimidated by Optimus. He viewed him, like so many others did, as a bear with no claws, but seeing him this... _vexed_ took him aback somewhat. He was on the verge of being what Amalgamous would've termed "genuinely fragged off." The larger Prime didn't even need to speak to get his message across. All it took was his expression of mingled disappointment and vexation to convince the other to shut up and back down.

The mini-con thus bade a hasty retreat. If Optimus wanted to indulge his protective instincts and keep an optic on Sentenza, who was he to argue? Another training session could be postponed for a short while, surely. Besides, if he could help prevent the Nightdemon from emerging, everyone won. Optimus had brought her here, so in effect it was his responsibility to watch over her; to make sure that her darker half never had a chance to come out.

But if the Demon made a kill, or even so much as harmed someone, it was on _his_ helm.

* * *

Flying in the daylight. It was something Sentenza both enjoyed and found faintly frightening. She knew she was safe in the daylight, the Nightdemon forced into hiding thanks to the light streaming from the sun, but at the same time she didn't want to be out and about for fear of a fluke resurgence of the night code occurring due to one reason or other. While incredibly rare on Cybertron, they seemed to happen more frequently here on Earth. She knew – she knew it was Unicron screwing with her somehow, but what could she do to keep him out? No matter how hard she tried to drown out his raspy and dangerously persuasive voice, it was still there. Even now she could just faintly hear it in the deepest, darkest corner of her conscious mind.

' _Why fight it? It exhausts you, Seeker. Stop fighting..._ '

But what was she supposed to do? Frankly, what _could_ she do? It wasn't like she could shut her processor off. Not even in power down was a Cybertronian processor truly inactive. She shuddered on realizing that maybe the only way to be free of him was to go offline, to merge with the Allspark and use it as a shield. The priests always said that sparks were safe from outside forces there, wrapped in the gentle embrace of their builder. But she didn't want to die, so there had to be another way. There just had to be!

She passed around a low mountain peak just in time to see a great spheroid of fire come screaming in from high in the eastern skies, just barely missing her cloaked form. Aloud she let slip a colorful curse. But rather than follow it, she quickly opened up a comm. link to Counterforce warning him of the unknown object and its heading, guessing that it might be a small meteor – though she did find it unusual that such a small meteor hadn't split up on entry. The thing was displaying some rather unusual electromagnetic activity, too. Odder still, it seemed to be making a bee line for the general vicinity of the salvage yard.

[I hear you, detective. Might be an escape pod then. Sure sounds like it, anyway.] replied the Praxian. [You alright? Not hurt?]

A soft purr escaped her vocalizer. "I'm fine, nightlight. It takes more than a wayward piece of metal to get rid of me. You know that. Don't worry."

[You know I'm always going to worry about you. Someone has to, right?]

She snorted, but more amusedly than derisively. It was moments like this that she was positive this mech was too nice for his own good. But she was damned if she didn't appreciate having such a caring, understanding (and frankly gallant) personality looking out for her when she herself either didn't care or physically couldn't for one reason or other. For about the thousandth time since arriving here she wondered how she had managed to live without him. He was the support system she never knew she had needed, but that once she had she was terrified of losing. He...he _knew_ her. Could she maybe...?

"...Hey, nightlight?"

[Yes?]

Try as she might, she couldn't get the words out. Her normally smooth, persuasive glossa turned to lead. The words caught in her throat as effectively as a dam blocking a river.

"Never mind. I'll...erm...I'll call you back in a bit, okay? Um. Still no 'Con sightings, but they're out here somewhere. I can feel it."

The Praxian chuckled softly. [Alright. We'll talk more later. Stay safe out there, okay?]

"You, too."

Severing the line, she flew deeper into the rolling mountains.

* * *

The salvage yard was thrown into upheaval when the flaming item finally made landfall in the southern corner near the stasis pods. When it hit ground, a small tremor passed through the ground and a small crater was formed, such a tremor drawing Denny away from the automotive section in a blind panic to ensure no damage to his collection. Frostbite, who had been sniffing around nearby, kindly offered him a ride, scooping the man up on his snout and tossing him onto his back before bounding off with the others to investigate, the klaxon droning away in the background.

They were soon joined by the other Cybertronians in their race to reach the crash site. Out of the group, only Windstorm and Fix-It were missing. All recalled the former had been in the general vicinity of the impact. Had he been hurt, or was he simply pulling Sherlock Holmes again and investigating as per his infinitely curious nature? Windstorm was intelligent, but sometimes his curiosity overrode his sense of self-preservation – as evidenced by his wandering into Vertebreak's lair earlier that day without even batting an optic, not so much horrified as captivated by everything.

Was he smarter than everyone else present? Without a doubt. Was he a little bit crazy? Absolutely.

Their answer came when they arrived at the scene of the crash. The site itself was an utter wreck, delicate ceramic and carved cement ornaments broken into shards, the ground torn up from where the object – a teardrop shaped piece of dark grey metal the size of a small car that was obviously an escape pod – had skidded to a halt after crashing into some of the stasis pods on its way down. They seemed intact, but Windstorm was giving them a quick once over just to be safe.

Denny, understandably horror-struck at the sight, cried out: "No! Not the Weeping Angels! What am I supposed to tell the Whovian I got them from?! I was supposed to keep them safe for him while he moved!"

Smokescreen looked at him. "Whovian?"

Bumblebee cracked up despite the danger of the unknown pod. "Oh, you are kidding me! You were on this planet, on Optimus's team, for _how long_ and you've _never_ heard of Doctor Who? You poor depraved spark! That was the best! Seriously – we get some spare time, I'm making you watch an episode. You'll love it."

"Uh, guys? Focus on the unlabeled alien thingamawhat that just crashed into my dad's property, please." Russell clicked. "You can nerd take later."

"Is there anyone even in there?" Grimlock wondered, the massive helm of his Tyrannosaur mode leaning in a little closer to investigate. "Looks abandoned to me."

Fix-It affirmed via their comm. links that he was indeed picking up a life sign. That pod was occupied, though he didn't know by who. There was no identification beacon.

They thus turned their full attention back to the pod. All tensed when the safety locks on the exterior disengaged and the hatch hissed open, smoke billowing out in a great cloud. Frostbite's heckles raised and he let out a low growl when a silhouette of a small yet rather bulky form began to emerge. In response, the mystery figure let out a startled yelp and darted out of the pod, running around back. The Canipid's growl faded, replaced by a curious whine as he slunk around the right side of the pod. He emerged from around the left carrying a red and gold form about seven feet tall in his jaws which he gently placed back on solid ground.

Bumblebee, Grimlock, Strongarm, and Sideswipe all recognized the little red and gold form standing there in plain view of all, looking up at the great white wolf with awe in his blue optics: Jetstorm.

Noting the Autobot crest but not knowing who it was, Smokescreen contacted Fix-It and requested he turn off the alarm. It was a 'Bot. A friendly. Almost instantly the annoying droning of the klaxon fell silent.

Jetstorm stared at the great white wolf, seemingly awe-struck. Frostbite's helm tilted to the side, one audial twitching in confusion and another curious whine escaping his vocalizer. Just from the way the mini-con looked at him, he might as well have been gazing up at Primus himself. The White Hound of Iacon – here of all places? What was the noble beast doing so far from his home territory on Cybertron? Did Predaking know that one of his charges was off-world? Or had he left without telling the reason, as Jetstorm himself had?

Eventually he managed to snap his attention away from the Snow Hound and towards the gathering of 'Bots, many of which he failed to recognize save for Smokescreen. He vaguely recognized the golden and silver Praxian too, but he was unable to place a name. The lieutenant's team had grown substantially since the last time he had visited Earth, that was pretty evident. When had this happened though? It had to have been recent – his last visit had not been so very long ago. None of these mechs and femmes had been here last time.

The mini-con focused on the young human standing at Sideswipe's heel struts, going over to Russell and giving a bow. "My apologies for my unexpected arrival, Commander Russell."

Russell blinked. He was accustomed to the mini-con's excessive politeness (sort of), but this took him aback. He wasn't the authority figure here, not by a long shot, and he thought he'd made it clear the last time he wasn't any sort of Commander. Obviously his message had failed to get through. He played along nonetheless, a sense of pity forming in his heart. Jetstorm was a bit odd in his behavior but he meant well, and he'd obviously come here for a reason.

"Um. It's...it's cool. No problem." He reassured. "But what're you doing here? Where's Drift and Slipstream?"

He noticed the mini-con's expression alter subtly. There was something in his face that he simply couldn't identify – it looked like guilt almost, yet there were so many other emotions in the mix that they became a subtle, jumbled mess. Such chaotic subtlety left him bewildered and curious. Jetstorm was upset over something, he could pick up on that much. But what? What could possibly drive the mini-con to come here all alone?

"I was...forced to leave the master's tutelage." Jetstorm admitted slowly, helm lowering in shame.

Half a dozen shocked expressions followed this declaration. Drift had cut him lose? What for?

Jetstorm shook his helm, clarifying their assumption. No. Master Drift had not forced him to leave. He had withdrawn from his mentorship of his own accord. With his disgraceful action he had had no other choice but to leave.

"I doubt you'd do something _that_ bad." Bumblebee reassured. "But why come here?"

The mini-con turned at last to face him but eyed Russell out of the corner of his optic as he spoke, almost as if asking permission. He said he thought that perhaps Commander Russell would be willing to mentor him instead. He had seemed capable the last time he had come, and truth be told he had been far friendlier than Master Drift usually was. That is, of course, if the human was willing to do so.

Russell didn't have the heart to say no. "Ah, s-sure. I guess."

* * *

While the members of Bumblebee's expanded team reconvened in the commons, one of the stasis pods that Windstorm had not gotten to before the group's adjourning began to short circuit. Sparks flickered on the control panels and exterior locks as pale smoke began to rise from the pod itself. There was a soft hiss of cryogenic gases dispersing. The transparent, heavy duty material that made up the sliding doors was then sliced through by a sharp, dark brown object resembling a quill. The occupant then forced its way out, revealing a brown and grey mech whose bipedal form somewhat resembled a terrestrial porcupine.

After weeks in stasis, Quillfire was burning with a need for revenge. These tyrannical Autobots had imprisoned him over his desire for more freedom, and here they were boasting of freedom themselves! Such hypocrisy. He had tried to stop them, but had failed rather miserably. Ah, but this time he was smarter in his tactics. If he could not accomplish such a lofty goal alone, why not have a little assistance? There were plenty of other prisoners to choose from it seemed.

Deciding on one closest to him, the anarchist used the quill in his hand to slice the occupant – a green mech who resembled a terrestrial frog – out of confinement. As soon as the prisoner, Springload, felt the cryogenic gases dissipating, he used his powerful hind legs to kick the doors off, then leaping out.

Good. Now he had some help. Time to get some sweet, sweet payback.

* * *

 **Author's Note: This next chapter's gonna be a bit...** _ **interesting.**_ **xD**


	18. Chapter 18: Tank Robbery

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 18**

 _*Note: Steeljaw's plan begins soon. Brace yourselves..._

* * *

All had gathered back together near Fix-It's command center as Jetstorm was made more familiar with the base and its occupants. Odd as it was to have the little mini-con warrior here on his own, everyone had to admit he was taking to everything rather well all things considered, and the newcomers on this end were taking well to him. Compared to the last time the mini-con had arrived unannounced on this world, this was going far smoother. Granted that last unexpected visit had been with his less-than-approachable master who had been there to collect a bounty on the lieutenant's head, and considering how aggressively protective Frostbite was of those under his protection, made blatantly obvious by his attack on Sideswipe the very night he'd arrived with the others, Bumblebee considered himself lucky that Drift hadn't come with Jetstorm.

Backdraft and Sideswipe were chatty as ever, going off on verbal tangents practically every five astroseconds and nearly confounding Jetstorm utterly and entirely. By the time a breem had passed, the mini-con looked like "a deer in headlights" as Denny would have described it. Thus were the effects of high grade on these two – easy going effects of terrestrial alcohol mingled with the energy spike of caffeine. Strongarm finally convinced the two trouble makers to zip it under threat of confiscating the stunt biker's secret cache of high grade. The former had, after a moment of silence, broken out laughing so hard that optic fluid had started to trickle out, but at last agreed to her demands.

"You can try to find it, cadet. I'll give you major marks if you do! But I rather doubt you'll succeed if you try!" Backdraft teased smilingly after recovering, winking. Then he and his co-conspirator had retreated, snickering like naughty sparklings, leaving the cadet rooted to the spot looking like steam would come out of her audials any second.

Grimlock, despite his girth, fearsome appearance, and love of brawling, proved to be quite friendly towards Jetstorm – even a bit overly cautious around him in accordance with the massive size difference. A few times the friendly ex-Decepticon offered him a lift, though Jetstorm politely declined the offers each time. The mini-con may have been small, but that didn't make him incapable of using his own legs to get around. He was a skilled hand-to-hand combatant, after all.

Counterforce, that handsomely charming and polite mech, was welcoming as could be. He even casually mentioned that he had assisted Drift in the past with information on bounty targets – not the one where he'd come here seeking the lieutenant, of course, but others in the past. On having his memory jogged as to the Praxian's identity, Jetstorm grinned up at him and thanked him for helping Drift. And for not arresting him or Slipstream at any point. They _had_ been thieves for a while. The Praxian thus explained to him he was a homicide investigator, not a thief-catcher.

Even the normally stranger-phobic Zodiac opened up a little to him, much to Smokescreen's evident surprise. That was twice so far the little hawk-former had done something totally out of character on this planet. First the shouting on the day they'd all arrived, now opening up to someone she literally knew nothing about other than faction alliance? What next? Would she start singing in public or something?

All in all, this unexpected visit was going better than Bumblebee could ever have hoped. But the more perceptive among the enlarged Autobot squadron had the sense that Jetstorm was keeping something back about his presence here. Out of all of them, it was Russell who seemed the most perceptively suspicious. Not that he didn't like the mini-con, but Jetstorm seemed the type of mech to give a little heads up to anyone he was visiting. To not receive any warning aside from a metal fireball hurtling through the skies was more than a bit odd.

So what exactly was Jetstorm _really_ doing here? That was the question Russell was trying to puzzle out.

No answer ever came.

* * *

Frostbite, quickly losing interest in the conversations going on around him, had bade a quiet retreat in order to patrol the salvage yard. Patrolling was something he did instinctively, almost unconsciously – an ingrained behavior. On Cybertron it was not uncommon for a pack mate to come across him wandering the flat-lands at night, or looking out over their territory from a high ridge, helm thrown back and "singin' to the moons" as Skylynx had once phrased his musical howling.

Most mechs and femmes despised being put on patrol duty since it was more often than not a solitary assignment. Isolation didn't bother the Canipid to the extent of some others. That wasn't so say he wasn't at all social – he just liked some personal time every once in a while. Socialization was all well and good, but even the universe's biggest extrovert had a threshold (of course, that threshold didn't seem to exist with Backdraft; with him it seemed to be "the more the merrier"). With so many 'Bots in one place, and so much going on, so many scents all bombarding him all at once, Frostbite's threshold had finally been hit.

And so he patrolled, a sense of tension slowly building in his spark, though he knew not from where it stemmed. But he knew better than to ignore his own instincts. If his instincts said something might be wrong, there was almost a one hundred percent guarantee something _was_ wrong. Out of curiosity he stopped in his tracks and swiveled his audials, snout raised as he drew in air to analyze. New scents and sounds instantly bombarded him – the smell of cryogenic gases, acid, and three other scents he did not recognize, the latter two being round towards western walls, close to the main gate, plus the sounds of something shattering, something sharp cutting through a metallic target, and in the distance, the rumbling echo of a Cybertronian star-ship engine.

His metal hide prickled, heckles rising.

' _Onyx scald you, Windstorm!_ '

Heartily cursing the eccentric, easily-distracted inventor in his mind, the Canipid pelted for the southern edge of the salvage yard where the smell of the frozen gases originated from – nose concerned with the smell, audials concerned on the sound of the idling star-ship engine echoing off the rolling mountains. Someone had arrived. Who it was remained to be seen, but that smell of cryogenic gases was becoming stronger. That wasn't a good sign. He'd only be smelling that if one of the pods was suffering a leak in the tubing – a leak that Windstorm obviously had missed thanks to the distraction of Jetstorm's arrival.

The ship was not his biggest concern at the moment. The pods were.

Deciding time was of the essence, he skidded and whirled down an isle that led into the commons. The new smells, the latter two ones he didn't recognize, assailed his olfactory sensors like a tidal wave. One more curve of the isles revealed a stranger in the commons standing in front of Fix-It's command center, Fix-It himself oblivious to the newcomer. His hide bristled on noting the katana hanging off the orange and gold mech's back. His heckles rose on seeing the strange object on the top of one hand, colored red. He had seen enough of "civilized" Cybertronians to recognize a mini-con when he saw one.

With his back turned to the charging beast, Frostbite never noticed the Autobot crest on the stranger's upper chest.

Giving the new mech ample warning, Frostbite issued a low growl as he made a bee line for the strange mech. Fix-It's helm snapped up just in time to see the other mech spin on hearing the sound, but before he could draw his weapon the beast-former tackled him to the ground, snarling. Liquid nitrogen dripped out of his maw and fizzled against the newcomer's heavy armor. He made to sink his saber fangs into the mech's shoulder...

"Down!" _WWH-CHANG_!

Frostbite's helm turned to stare down a mini-con that looked remarkably similar to Jetstorm. Pinning his audials back, he issued another snarl that convinced the little lookalike to take a step back and lower his naginata. To his surprise the mini-con dropped it altogether and held its hands up in a please-don't-hurt-me fashion. It worked. The beast-former's code of honor forbade him to attack anyone smaller than he and who had no immediate means of defense. But that didn't stop him from contiuing to growl.

"Easy! Easy, Predacon. We're not the enemy here. We're just looking for my partner. Could you please let Master Drift up?" requested the Jetstorm lookalike calmly.

He looked back at his pinned victim, audials pricking up ninety degrees as he finally noticed the red Autobot crest on his plating. Frankly he felt like a drunken scraplet for missing something so blatantly obvious. This was no enemy. He'd been so focused on defending Fix-It from a seeming intruder that he had let his protective aggressiveness impair his sight and basic reasoning. Humiliated and somewhat humbled, he bowed his helm in apology, emitting a small whine, and then removed himself.

Drift heaved himself up off the ground as the other occupants of the salvage yard came rushing in, brushing the liquid nitrogen crystals off his armor while subjecting the mechanical, saber-fanged wolf to a piercing stare. Frostbite's helm lowered a few degrees further, another whine escaping his vocalizer. By Onyx, he felt like a fool.

"What's going on here?" Bumblebee demanded, glancing sharply at the guilty parties. Everyone else looked confused.

He took in the scene with a quick optic. Drift appeared unharmed but liquid nitrogen droplets and crystals clung to his armor, and his expression seemed to be a mix of annoyance and respect. Slipstream didn't appear harmed either; his naginata lay on the ground near his pedes – whether it had been dropped purposefully or out of fright he couldn't say for sure. Frostbite...Primus. The poor guy looked like he had just flung an insult at Onyx Prime himself.

"Your guardian mistook me for an enemy and reacted accordingly." Drift explained simply. Even though he kept his tone impassive, a hint of what sounded very much like respect wormed its way in.

Bumblebee winced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. So that was what had happened. Well, at least the Canipid hadn't gone so far as to actually bite him or anything. And it looked like he felt understandably appalled at his act. It almost made him smile. Trust the chivalrous wolf to know when he'd done goofed. He thus quickly apologized for Frostbite's aggressive behavior. He wasn't normally this quick to flare around strangers. He was usually quite mellow if a bit cautious. Something must've set him off – probably Drift's sword. He'd most likely thought Drift was there to harm someone.

Counterforce then cut to the chase: "Why are you here, bounty hunter? If you've come for us, know that we came here under the same series of peculiar circumstances that led the lieutenant here in the first place. We did not have time to ask the Council's permission. The summons were given with a sense of urgency. In such a situation it is better to ask forgiveness than permission."

Drift shook his helm. He knew of the golden and silver mech's spotless, honorable reputation and knew he would not break regulation so openly without a solid reason. Quite frankly he would be more inclined to believe the Praxian's testimony of being summoned to Earth by the spirit of Optimus Prime than Bumblebee's who unfortunately bore an ingrained bias concerning the legendary Prime. Counterforce's processor was well-grounded, not prone to such seemingly sensational claims, and he bore no unique partiality on the subject. He was the neutral party. Better to take evidence from a neutral than one who held a distinct prejudice.

"I'm not here for you, officer, nor am I am here for your compatriots." Drift clarified. "I'm not here to arrest you or to argue with the reasons you are here. No. I am searching for Jetstorm. He went missing a short time ago with no explanation as to his whereabouts. My ship's scanners managed to track the escape pod he used to this world. Have you seen him?"

Surprise flickered in the optics of those gathered. That wasn't what any of them had been expecting. He was just here to get Jetstorm? Really? That was it?

At that moment the little red helm of Jetstorm peeked out from behind Grimlock's thick pedes. A little nudge brought him out of hiding fully. Frostbite padded over and sat down beside him, for the moment forgetting the pods. The scents would still be there. He had the odd sense of an explosive about to go off in the group. Who though?

"How could you?" Drift scolded.

Then Russell spoke up: "You came all the way here just to yell at him some more?!"

The bounty hunter glanced down at him as a small frown formed. Russell wasn't intimidated. He merely folded his arms and frowned back up at him. Denny had the grace to gape at his son's audacity. In his mind there was one rule they were to never break, and that was to not aggravate the giant aliens with the very dangerous weapons – _especially_ Drift. That was just begging for trouble. Although he did have to admit that coming all the way here to yell at one of your little helpers over some mistake they'd made was pretty darned petty for someone like Drift.

This frowning contest was interrupted when Frostbite's audials pricked up and he bounded off for seemingly no reason in the direction of the stasis pods. Grimlock knew better. Whenever Frostbite acted like that, something was up. He was headed to the pods for a reason. A rogue scent? An unexplained sound? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Predacon plus Decepticon Prisoners didn't end well. Reverting to beast form, he followed after him, leaving everyone staring after the two with puzzled expressions.

"Hmm. Your friend seems to have been set off again." Drift commented. "Is he usually this...abrupt?"

Bumblebee frowned. "No. No, he's not. Fix-It?"

The mini-con was already two steps ahead of him. He rapidly keyed up the status of the pods that were currently occupied. At first glance everything seemed fine – a few glitches in the sensors here and there that foretold of Windstorm's attempts to set them aright. Those glitches swiftly righted themselves – another sign of Windstorm's handiwork. On going over the readings a second time, he found something that would assuredly set the perceptive Predacon off.

"Sensors seem to be back up (thank you for that, Windstorm), but we have two units compromised."

Resisting the urge to thwack the engineer upside the helm, he asked: "Whose?"

* * *

The sun continued on its perpetual arc through the sky, slowly sinking lower and lower. Sentenza kept a close watch on its path as she scoured the rolling mountains that ringed Crown City from afar, well aware of the risks of staying out once its light was snuffed and darkness fell. She had even swooped low over the Bay in search of some water-based 'Con or even an underwater base. For all her efforts, she was presently empty handed. And so she continued to hunt from the skies, ever watching the golden sun above.

After her first encounter with Steeljaw and her..."issue" within Nightstrike's cavern hideout she was scared of ever letting the Nightdemon out on this world. She was scared of letting her out before on Cybertron considering how merciless she was ordinarily. But at the least on Cybertron her "other half" was much more...contained, like some invisible leash of morality had been tied 'round her, preventing her from performing truly extreme acts of violence like mutilation. She wasn't scared of her there so much as she was immensely unnerved.

On Earth, that leash appeared to have snapped. _That_ was what terrified her. That morality leash was what had kept her from harming innocents. Without it...

A low snarl escaped her vocalizer as she dove down into a clearing. Her optics darted around in search of unwanted watchers and, on finding only harmless woodland animals, she dropped her cloak. She stood there a few moments, internally seething. Soon a sigh escaped and she sunk down to the ground, chin resting on her knees. Forcibly slowing her air cycles, she shuttered her optics and toned out all but what she could hear: twitterings of chickadees, chirps of insects, the fast-paced thudding of a woodpecker as it pounded away at a tree trunk, the whisper of wind through the leaves. Eventually her agitation began to die down. But rather than rise, she elected to remain where she was. She still had a few hours before sundown, and Counterforce had always bugged her about taking some time for herself...surely the others could survive without her for a while.

Right now, she just wanted to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted. She had promised to do whatever necessary to reduce the risk of the Nightdemon, after all, and meditating combined with sunbathing was one such method. It was a trick she and Counterforce had developed together.

Hiding up in the boughs of an old oak at the far edge of the clearing, a tiny wasp-like insect observed. If any observer had noticed it, they would've said that it's carapace had far too high a sheen, and it's body was slightly too angular...

* * *

"Hey Steeljaw. One of my micro-cams is picking up something." Fracture reported.

The were-wolf looking mech grinned and made his way over to his associate. About a solar cycle ago he had ordered him to deploy a dozen or so of his little insect-mimicking micro-cams to search for evidence of the Nightdemon. None of them knew enough about her to formulate a decent strategy to trap her and break her, and he wasn't about to go into his scheme of suicide-inducing without a significant amount of information about her – where she liked to lurk, how close she really was to Counterforce, more data on her physical attributes and cloaker, and how deep of a guilt complex she really harbored concerning her deeds. He needed to know precisely what made this dangerous femme tick so he could exploit her every weakness.

He approached the display screen. His twisted smile only broadened on what he saw.

"That's her. Well done."

Thunderhoof and Underbite got curious and made their way over, both giants looming over the smaller form of Steeljaw and Fracture. Neither had ever had the privilege of laying optics on the so-termed deadliest entity on Cybertron without running the risk of being terminated by said entity. What they saw both confused and intrigued them: a slender, exotically built black Seeker femme who, from all indications, seemed to be meditating. Just visible hanging from her hip was a short black metal rod – the dreaded "Spark Eater" as some had deemed it, named as such for the kill count it had accumulated over the groons the Demon had been active.

" _That's_ the Nightdemon of Kaon?" Underbite gawked. " _That's_ who was givin' you so much trouble back on Cybertron, Thunderhoof? One femme – _one femme_! – almost _ruined_ your entire empire?!"

At that the Chompozoid broke out laughing. One femme had nearly crippled a crime boss's planet-spanning empire? Was this some sort of a joke?

The tractor beside him growled and slammed a fist into Underbite's snout, hissing: "That one femme is about as dangerous as the Unmaker himself. Don't you dare underestimate her 'cause she's easy on tha optics. We're lucky she hasn't found this place yet. Otherwise, we'd all be dead already. And she doesn't work alone, idiot. Not only does she got that do-gooder Praxian on her side, she's got an intelligence network that makes the official one look like a laughing stock – she's got snitches, she's got traitors, she's got double agents, she's got undercover operatives, she's got _entire precincts_ in her slagging subspace pocket! The mech who underestimates her is the one who gets offed by her."

Underbite stared at him for a moment as his words sunk in. Now she suddenly seemed more formidable. This femme was in command of what was pretty much a sleeping army, ready to awaken whenever she had need of them.

"B-But she don't got that here, r-right?" Clampdown reminded him nervously.

Steeljaw nodded, his twisted smirk re-emerging: "No. She doesn't. Without that network she's nowhere near as dangerous. Here, she's isolated."

"And Counterforce?" Fracture pressed. "How does he fit into this scheme of yours? He's not exactly the easiest mech to dupe, y'know. He's too smart for that."

"You'll see. For now, keep up with the surveillance. We need to know everything about her before we attempt to... _dispose_ of her. Once we know, then we move."

Fracture understood perfectly and went back to checking the feed on the other dozen micro-cams throughout the mountainous forests. He understood the value of knowing a target inside and out. But never would he admit aloud his own doubt. Disposing of the Nightdemon, a being whom some were ready to swear had been granted supernatural powers, was going to be far harder than Steeljaw was making it sound. More than anything, they needed _luck_ to take her out.

* * *

A convoy of vehicles raced along the open highway rimming the bay and winding through the mountains. Inside a heavy-duty blue and white off-roading truck sat a young boy and an older man, the former slumped in his seat looking discouraged and annoyed. Russell wasn't happy, and Denny was well aware of his son's current temperament – and his disliking of Drift's... _strictness_ around his two helpers.

Looking out Strongarm's window, the older man noted Windstorm's sleek Tesla Roadster form. Ever since finding out about the escape of Springload and Quillfire and the subsequent chase they were now all involved in, he hadn't heard a peep out of him. Where the others were immensely annoyed at him, Denny felt sorry for him. An old saying his granddad often used came to mind as he watched the vehicle shoot along: " _Every genius has his flaws._ " Windstorm was a genius, no doubt about that, but even a genius was capable of screwing up every now again, and the inventor had more than a few behavioral quirks that permitted them – his attention span for one. If there were too many things going on at once then his focus seemed to snap. He became over-stimulated and easily distracted, much like a human with ADHD would.

In the end, two things mattered: only two pods had malfunctioned out of the half dozen or so hit, and the malfunctioning ones had taken a while to do so.

"Hey Windstorm?"

He could've sworn he saw the vehicle swerve as if startled. Then the British-accepted voice came over Strongarm's internal speakers. [Yes?]

"You did at least start tampering with the pods, right?"

[Yes. I managed to repair about fifty percent of the circuitry on Quillfire's pod before I began meddling with the cryogenic dispensers themselves. I was trying to ensure the super-chilled gases lasted for quite a while, as we don't know when this will be wrapped up, and thus attempted to see if I could make them more efficient but no less potent. Obviously something went wrong once I got up and left to check on Jetstorm – I blame quality. Whoever made these pods didn't take into account variables any good engineer would have. Then one thing and another and...]

"So quit blaming yourself. Trying has to count for something. And besides – mistakes teach better lessons than perfection, y'know. What's there to learn if everything goes without a cinch? Honestly, everyone's just a bit...uptight with Drift around. They don't like to seem incompetent around him. He, erm, tends to not view them in the most favorable light if screw-ups happen."

[...Thank you, Denny. And believe you me, I understand the pressure they're all under. No one likes to be viewed or thought of as incapable, especially when the one doing the blaming isn't flawless themselves. I suppose we should be thankful Smokescreen and Counterforce are here to mediate any...disagreements that may arise.]

They lapsed into silence.

[Frankly I still want to know what made the Alchemor crash in the first place. From the way Fix-It explained things to me, nothing appeared to be wrong with the ship or its workings. He recieved no warning messages, no error alerts beforehand – nothing. No messages occurred about the engine suddenly sputtering out, and the poor fellow barely had time to react. My question is this: What precisely caused the engine to die if nothing was wrong with the ship?]

"Good question." Russell admitted. Worded like that, he could appreciate how weird that was. Could sabotage have played a role? But who could've sabotaged it? Certainly not the prisoners! And he would never believe Fix-It would purposefully sabotage the ship. That would be against his personality and his mission. He had been assigned to protect the ship and its devious cargo, and from all indications he had done so until the crash had set that cargo loose.

[Might wanna put that line of thought on hold, guys. I got visual on our convicts!] Zodiac reported.

"Where?" Smokescreen and Bumblebee demanded in unison.

[Fifteen kliks ahead of you guys on the main road, headed deeper into the mountains due east! They're in some sorta massive tank thing with guns, cannons, the whole shebang – and I kinda doubt they're takin' it for a joy ride!]

"Keep an optic on them, Zodiac." Bumblebee requested. "This road is a massive loop. We'll cut through the woods and intercept them on the other side. Whatever you do, _don't_ get in sight of those guns. Okay? And remember what Charity said about straining your systems right about now. Your VC's still recovering from the beating Vertebreak gave it. You're lucky you managed that burst earlier."

[I wasn't gonna.] argued the astronomer, sounding slightly offended. [I'm not an idiot.]

"He's not saying you are. Just...be careful. Please. I almost lost you once already." Smokescreen said.

[I will. Don't worry.]

"A'ight. See you on the other side."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Finals Week is almost over! Just a Comp 1 paper due Wednesday and my History Final on Friday! :D Then it's back to the lovely abyss of gaming and binge writing. Oh, how I missed you free time...**

 **Speaking of gaming - I got Skyrim plus all 3 DLC packs for $10 last week. I may do a little biography page on my DeviantArt page over my Khajit character Shajeer'a. So been wanting to make a Khajit! :3 I'm just sad I have to play the game on low graphics (cringe) because my laptop isn't quite hefty enough to manage higher detail. Bit odd considering many of my other games run smoothly on high detail; then again they aren't nearly as massive a file as Skyrim is. I am getting some mods though - namely Convenient Horses and Frostfall.**


	19. Chapter 19: Power of the Mind

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 19**

* * *

Zodiac maintained her vertical distance from the tank, keeping upwards of a hundred and fifty feet in the skies. Just as a true hawk watched its prey, her sharp optics watched the tank's every movement. Like she'd told 'Bee, she had no intention of getting anywhere near the thing and its ginormous gun barrels. One well-placed shot from one of those things would probably rip her tiny, lightly-armored body in two. Much as she wanted to get a closer look, she abstained from drawing nearer.

Those selfsame sharp optics hungrily absorbed every aspect about the vehicle as it trundled along, analyzing it's structure for any kind of weakness that might be exploited. Frustratingly, there didn't seem to be any that she could see. The thing was too heavily armored and too heavily armed. Probably the only way to take it down was from the inside or via some sort of virus program that would attack it's electronic components. Could Windstorm rig something up maybe? Would an engineer even have the know how to program such a virus? She rather doubted it. But if anyone had the brains to bring this monster down she knew he could. The guy was a genius when it came to machines – a quirky genius, but a genius all the same.

Her optics zeroed in on the tank's upper canopy. On examining the pivot points of the guns she noted that they were incapable of shooting directly up. Silently she smirked, feeling that 'Bee and Smoke's fear was a bit unfounded. So long as she stayed ninety degrees above the tank she might as well be invincible. They might have her on scanners but they wouldn't be able to hit her unless they exited the tank and had Quillfire start shooting those poisoned spikes of his. And that wasn't likely to happen. The two 'Cons were probably too comfy in their new digs to come out in the open and risk their hides. With the armaments the tank came with they no doubt thought there was no need to engage the enemy hand-to-hand.

She shook her helm at the thought. Cowards – just like every 'Con ever – but _smart_ cowards. Those were the worst kind.

She relayed the intel:

"Hey guys? Found something interesting about the monster tank. The pivot points – or swivel hinges; whatever you wanna call 'em – for the guns don't allow them to orient at ninety degrees vertical."

[You mean they can't shoot straight up?] Sideswipe asked.

"Bingo. This thing was probably designed to wipe out other tanks, not enemy aircraft. Dunno how useful that is to you boys since none of you can fly. I just thought you should know. Bit of a design flaw if you ask me. Tanks are pretty fragging easy to take out from the air if the ordinance the aircraft's got is powerful enough. Also, the fact that it's so big might be an advantage to us. Bigger objects move slower due to greater mass, but on the other hand once you get something massive enough going it's hard to stop it. Think 'Juggernaut'. It's basic physics."

[Is that all?] wondered Drift.

"Thing doesn't seem to have a great turn radius either. Better than most terrestrial tanks I've read about, but still pretty crummy. Slow, too. Barely hitting twenty."

[Tanks aren't designed to be highly mobile, 'Zee.] argued Bumblebee. [They're designed to be set onto the battlefield and obliterate anything that gets in their way with slow, steady lethality. Tanks are pretty much tiny mountains with guns. This one is obviously no exception. If you find out anything else useful about the tank's structure or composition be sure to tell us right away, okay?]

"Aye aye, Cap'n."

Putting the comm. line back on idle, the Avioid continued her pursuit of the tank. Thanks to the strong wind she barely needed to waggle a feather to stay airborne and it furthermore prevented unwanted buffeting, allowing her to keep her gaze zeroed on the tank. Unable to find anything else of use, she drew back a ways and simply tagged along above it, appreciative that the tank couldn't move very fast. Such sluggishness would easily allow the others to catch up.

As the tank and its two passengers continued on down the highway she began to wonder where exactly these two thought they were headed. Fix-It and Strongarm had both provided brief dossiers on the convicts. Neither Quillfire nor Springload were what could be termed "mentally sound" but out of the two it was Springload who was the truly crazy one. According to 'Bee, the Amphiboid was obsessed with finding the mythical lost city of Doradas and claiming its riches for himself. He attacked anyone who tried to impede him, be they Autobot or Decepticon. He was also under the delusion of the "spirits" talking to him, deeming him worthy of finding Doradas.

That was what puzzled her: Doradas was literally just an old story with no solid evidence to prove its existence. And not only that, Springload appeared to be willingly cooperating with Quillfire judging by them working together to steal the tank in the first place. A possibility began to work its way into her processor – was the other 'Con _manipulating_ Springload somehow by taking advantage of that obsession of his? Fix-It had mentioned that the toxin in Quillfire's spines caused some rather...unusual results. But if Springload was after Doradas then he _had_ to be acting normally.

Was it manipulation Quillfire was doing? Or was he simply "playing along" until he got whatever it was he wanted? But then what did he want if so? An anarchist was just someone who wanted no authority – absolute freedom to do whatever the frack they wanted. Here, he didn't appear to have such a goal in mind.

* * *

Elsewhere, the remaining members of the convoy had already barreled off the road and up into the forested hills. Due to the thick vegetation and uneven terrain it was unanimously deemed better to go on foot or risk plowing into a tree. And according to Zodiac's report on the tank they didn't have to worry about falling behind so long as they kept up a decent pace.

Frostbite appeared to be the only one happy to get off the roads and into the wilderness, trotting ahead of the others briskly with Russell on his back, the young human clearly getting more adept at "wolf riding." Grimlock followed a few paces behind him. The Dinobot didn't looked thrilled per say but he did seem pleased to get off Strongarm's flatbed and stretch his legs – and get his daily dose of skull cracking in the bargain. Slipstream and Jetstorm strode briskly beside the two beast-formers.

Behind this forward team lagged everyone else. Judging by the snippets of conversation they overheard, Drift seemed to be asking where the "newcomers" had come from, why they were there, and how long they had been here.

Seeing this was as good an opportunity as any that was likely to come his way, Russell wasted no time. "Jetstorm? Why are you really here?"

The little mini-con's stride faltered visibly. He appeared to debate whether or not to remain silent or speak up. A glance from his partner encouraged him to pick the latter. And so, rather reluctantly, Jetstorm explained the real reason he had left Drift's tutelage: a simple slip up in the way he had polished the samurai's sword. He had been worried Drift would notice and scold him, so he had fled.

It was all Russell could do not to mimic Frostbite's low, rumbling growl. Being strict was one thing – being overbearingly strict to the point of instilling mild fear over even the tiniest mistakes was another case entirely. To say Drift was a bit of a bully to his two partners was probably being too nice. That mech wanted perfection despite perfection not really being possible. Nobody was perfect. Not even Drift himself was perfect.

"Frostbite, turn around." Russell ordered. "We need to have a _word_ with Drift."

* * *

Drift had to admit to himself that the circumstances surrounding this...peculiar situation left him both puzzled and highly curious. According to the lieutenant he had asked Optimus for some badly needed reinforcements about a seven solar cycles ago in containing the Alchemor crash. Frankly he hadn't expected to get an answer at all, and yet it had come with somewhat surprising promptness. He had asked for help and the dead Prime had been quick to single out seven individuals (technically eight counting Smokescreen) and send them over.

Smokescreen had thus explained that it must've been soon after that he and Zodiac had gotten a strange message aboard the little astronomer's ship telling them to go to the Iacon Spacebridge Hub. It had said that "a friend had needed help." Everyone else's stories were similar – a strange message or even a direct encounter with the Prime himself telling them to go that location. All had been wise enough to heed the summons even if they didn't really know what in the name of Primus was going on. One illegal spacebridge later and here they were.

Only Frostbite hadn't recieved such a message. The White Hound had simply gotten curious – first about Zodiac's ship returning earlier than he had expected, then about strangers passing through his territory towards Iacon.

"Hm. I see. You have no reason to suspect that Sentenza and Counterforce were purposefully directed into his pack's territory in order to stimulate that curiosity? You said Sentenza was chasing a shadow at the true beginning of this saga – one that, significantly enough, had lingered around the Iacon Hall of Records. Yet out of the countless occupants of the city only _she_ saw it. Did that not strike you as odd at the time?"

This pointed question made both young mechs optics widen a little. They shared glanced. Neither had thought about it like that. Then again in hindsight nothing made more sense. Optimus had possessed a certain amount of clever slyness in some of his actions, and he did hold a powerful connection to the archival building itself. Directing the Praxian and his Seeker femme friend through Frostbite's territory alongside the returning research ship – what better way to get his attention? The White Hound defended Iacon and all her inhabitants with the stubbornness of a bull yet with the compassion of a Prime. He couldn't have picked better.

And going by what they knew of Sentenza, of course she'd notice a strange "shadow" ahead of everyone else. Darkness was what defined her. She lived in it where others avoided it. Granted they knew something Drift didn't – that darkness wasn't there by her choice or preference. And they wisely didn't inform him. Only once they were sure she and they could trust him with the information would anyone tell him. Going by the kill count the Demon had accumulated there was no reason to doubt she had a bounty on her helm.

"Ah, speaking of the good detective..." Windstorm interjected a bit shyly. "Has anyone heard from her?"

Everyone exchanged looks amongst one another, including Counterforce. All were forced to shake their helms. No one had heard from her since she had left to scout for further fugitives. Normally that wouldn't warrant alarm, but it was getting far too dangerously close to sunset. If she didn't make it back to the base before the sun sank, if she stayed out there with those 'Cons and Steeljaw's pack running a muck, unable to resist Unicron's influence...things could get messy. Bodies might start cropping up instead of live prisoners.

"You don't think something's happened to her, do you?" Sideswipe wondered, anxiety bubbling. As aware as he was of the relation between Counterforce and Sentenza he still admired the femme greatly. You just had to look at her to know she was a fighter. No matter the opponent, if she went down she would do so kicking and screaming. And probably swearing like a trooper, too.

This inquiry was brought to a screeching halt when everyone noticed Frostbite headed towards them looking none too pleased, a low rumbling growl coming from deep in his throat. Russell sat, frowning, on the beast's back. And their displeasure was riveted on the bounty hunter at Bumblebee's side.

[We need to talk.] Frostbite stated coldly over the common frequency.

"Uh-oh. What'd you do, Drift?" Sideswipe wondered, blue optics glancing sideways at him.

* * *

Sentenza's optics finally opened again after upwards of an hour and a half of remaining shuttered. She blinked a few times at the sudden influx of light that struck the re-calibrating wires and sensors that comprised the sensitive organs. Soon after she took nervous note of how low the sun was getting. She hadn't meant to stay for so long. She had just wanted to get as much light into her as possible. If she hurried she might make it back to base before it got too dark. The Seeker femme had given her word to the Bumblebee that she would do everything necessary to stave off the night code after all, and she bloody well intended to keep it.

On Cybertron she might've risked staying out a smidge longer, but here it was simply too risky. There, she was protected in a sense – marginally so, but still safer there than anywhere thanks to that morality leash. Here? Here she was vulnerable...and deeply exposed to the darkness that lay, slumbering but still active, beneath her. A darkness, moreover, that she was afraid she wouldn't be able to fight indefinitely.

Rising to her pedes, she stretched her stiff, creaking limbs and wings. She could barely feel the night code now, though she could still faintly sense it writhing within her as it tried desperately to battle the light she had absorbed. It almost seemed to beg at her, plead her to get back in the shadows. The light...the light hurt. If she got back in the shadows she promised not to cause any problems.

She frowned. ' _Not today you little scraplet. I am NOT letting you out. You hear me? No means no!_ '

The night code hissed malevolently but eventually seemed to withdraw, forced into hiding for the time being.

' _That's right. I'm in control here, glitch. Not you._ '

She raised one hand to her left audial and opened a comm. line to Counterforce. It was habit by this point in her life to contact her Praxian partner and update him as to how she was doing – one of those rare habits she truly found pleasurable. Simply speaking to him, even if she wouldn't get an answer back, served to further soothe her whenever she was struggling or frustrated. Having someone listen to her was a remedy in it of itself.

"Hey, Goldie? Sorry for taking so long getting back to you. Got frustrated and had to do that little meditation trick you taught me. Didn't find any 'Cons anywhere in this area. Not surprised. By this point they've had more than enough time to get far away from the crash radius. I'm heading back to base to update the search maps so we don't go over the same spots twice. I'll probably stay there. Safer that way. Getting too close to dusk for my liking. Don't worry. Charity will keep an optic on me till you get back."

The Seeker femme had to admit that she wasn't expecting an answer from him.

[That's fine. Much as I'd like to have you here I think we have more than enough 'Bots to handle this mission. You head on back, Sen'za. You've been out most of the afternoon scouting the terrain. You must be exhausted; and I know how frustrated you get if you're not successful. I believe you've done your share. I don't think Charity would mind your company or the extra set of optics and hands if Steeljaw's pack decides to pay a surprise visit. I've noticed she has a lot sympathy for you.]

She smiled. "Thanks, nightlight. See you back at home base then. Stay safe out there. Oh! Be sure to tell me all about it when you get back."

He chuckled. [Yes ma'am!]

Smile broadening, she transformed and shot off into the burnt orange skies. Up in the boughs of an old, gnarled oak tree a little insect's metallic wings buzzed as it took off moments later, flying after her...

* * *

When at last the tree line thinned and the terrain sloped downwards, the rendezvous party were met first by the smooth grey of the highway. Each Cybertronian happily reverted down to their alternative modes and roared off down the road as fast as their wheels or legs could carry them. They reached a bend in the highway and slowed on hearing the low trundling of tank treads so powerful that it made the very ground beneath them shudder as it drew nearer.

"Everybody get ready!" Smokescreen barked, reverting form. It looked like they were jumping right into the fray.

A high keen met the audials of the attack squadron. The Elite Guardsmech was pleased to see a midnight blue bird circling high above, keening down at them.

[It's about slagging time! I was getting bored of playing hide-and-seek with the killer tank!] a rowdy female voice chided.

Zodiac herself dove down towards them at that, perching on Smokescreen's outstretched arm.

"Did you find anything more about the vehicle, Zodiac?" Drift demanded.

The Avioid's helm shook. [No. But I think Windstorm might have some ideas. I've been relaying all my scans to him.]

All turned their gazes to the inventor expectantly even as the road's trembling magnified. So that was why Windstorm had been humming thoughtfully after Zodiac's verbal report – the little astronomer had been busy relaying raw data to him in a live feed. If anyone could figure out how to bring the monster tank down, an engineer of Windstorm's caliber assuredly could. Machines were his specialty. Right?

From around the bend came a tank the size of a small house, its countless cannons and guns honing in on the shooting gallery before it. Its wide treads cracked the concrete ominously as it drew to a stop about a hundred paces from the waiting squadron. The biggest gun of them all sat on the front and looked capable of blowing a city's former's legs out from under it. To say that it was like staring down the barrel of a warp cannon would've been a massive understatement.

"So? How do you suggest we go about taking this behemoth down?" Bumblebee whispered to Windstorm.

The cannon's barrel began to glow red hot as if the weapon had heard him. The sound of bullets being fed into the smaller guns was plainly audible soon thereafter.

Windstorm's lightning yellow optics widened. "I've got a great idea to start us off. Wonderful, really. Marvelous."

"Spit it out already!" Sideswipe demanded impatiently.

" _RUN!_ "

* * *

Higher up the mountainous slope above the highway on a small outcropping of rock, Denny and Russell could only watch as the monster tank opened fire on the assembled Autobots. The aliens wildly scrambled to avoid the energy shots of the main cannon and the bullets whizzing around them in a deadly storm. They observed a streak of midnight blue shoot up above the fray, Zodiac keening down nervously at her ground-bound companions as she watched them dart about beneath her. She was too small to fight the tank, too fragile to take a hit from the guns, and sharp as her talons and beak were Denny doubted they could do much against the tank's thick hide. She couldn't really use her speed either – she was under medical orders to not strain herself. She must be feeling horrible about not being able to do anything to help.

Russell inched forward, his whole body tensing. They weren't gonna win this. They were outgunned – literally. And playing defense forever wouldn't end well. Sooner or later the aliens would begin to tire as they burned through their fuel reserves. Surely they could do _something_ to help 'Bee and the others. He wasn't about to let them get blasted to a pulp by Dumb and Dumber.

His father put a hand in front of him and shook his head, expression grim.

"No go, kiddo. We'd just get underfoot down there."

The boy was forced to withdraw.

' _Come on guys. You can beat this thing. I know you can..._ '

A stray shot from the tank streaked upwards towards the hillside, hitting the stones and gravel beneath the outcropping. Russell felt the ledge shudder as it began to give way, but before he could give a cry of alarm he felt himself slide down. Denny shouted in fear. Then, as he watched, a blur of blue shot down in a curve – and Russell simply disappeared. Wildly he looked around for his son. Where had he gone?

" _Kree! Kree!_ "

He looked up. Hovering thirty feet or so above his head was the avian form of Zodiac, Russell safely clasped in her talons. He was grinning, too. Denny grinned back at the two, relief flooding his heart.

"Thanks, 'Zee!"

She flew down and deposited Russell next to him.

* _Just try to be more careful next time, m'kay?_ * she spoke over Russell's hacked cellphone.

Just before she took off, she gave a friendly, somewhat reprimanding peck to the boy's head.

* * *

To say that it was difficult for Windstorm's hyperactive processor to analyze Zodiac's scans, plus his own lives scans, all while dodging bullets and energy shots was difficult would be putting things mildly. For him, it was far easier to analyze complicated schematics in a nice, quiet place free of distractions. Under those circumstances, breakthroughs came to him as easily as activating a power switch in a circuit board. He was able to let the ideas flow into a sort of second sight – like a three-dimensional display in front of his optics that he could manipulate with pure impulses of thought.

But with bullets and their deadlier counterparts being shot at him? That second sight might as well have been taken out back and shot. He simply couldn't concentrate enough to get it to work. Many of Zodiac's meticulous scans were going to waste. If he couldn't analyze them how could they hope to stop the tank? How could you stop something at all if you couldn't find the weakness? They were all counting on him to find the solution and there he was with a processor full of scans – scans he couldn't yet understand.

He dodged out of the way as another storm of bullets swarmed towards him, nearly colliding with Strongarm in the process. The cadet was beginning to look worn, as was everyone else. They couldn't keep this up indefinitely. If anyone slipped up against this thing it was lights out.

' _Come on, come on! Just give me a moment or two of no distractions and I can figure this out!_ '

Growling, Frostbite surged forward, slid underneath the tank, and sank his fangs into some sort of pipe on the vehicle's underbelly. The tank seemed to emit a hiss as the liquid nitrogen seeped into whatever system he had injected it into. For a brief second the tank slowed to a near stop. Whatever the Canipid had bitten it seemed it was connected with the tank's acceleration or brakes. It wasn't a permanent fix for their problem but it bought them a few precious moments to recover.

"Please tell me you have something for us, Windstorm!" Strongarm demanded.

"I'd have something if I actually had the time to look over these scans! But I can't do that when I'm being shot at!" He didn't intend to sound cross or snappy but his words came out that way despite his efforts.

"If we keep the vehicle's attention elsewhere for a short time, would that help?" Drift wondered loudly from the other side of the tank.

"It would, yes. I'm not even asking for very long – just a minute or two. Just long enough to match up Zodiac's scans with my own and take a look at them."

At his side, Bumblebee nodded sharply, saying: "We'll buy you as much time as we can. Just find that thing's Achilles heel before we all get crushed."

Even as the sentence finished the sound of the tank's engine kicking back into gear could be heard by all. Its frame shuddered as it began to slowly trundle forward like some great metal glacier. The main cannon flared up once more, its barrel reorienting away from Grimlock and pointing directly at the inventor in the middle of the road. Its barrel glowed brighter and brighter. One could almost hear the Decepticons controlling it snickering as they readied to fire...

* * *

Windstorm was in a world of his own by the time Smokescreen barked the order to Drift, Counterforce, and Sideswipe to slash the guns to pieces. The rest of the world might've been non-existent to him. The world he saw around him now was one of three-dimensional blueprints, long strips of command codes, interactive molecular compounds and formulas, and rogue numbers flying around like leaves in the wind. It was a mental world of pure data that surrounded him – data that could be interacted with as truly as physical objects in the real world.

He put his hands over three different full body deep scans of the stolen tank, twirling it around and flipping it end over end to view it from every angle. He followed wires, cables, and pipes from one end to the other. The inventor paused to examine a powerful energy spike in the vehicle's heavily armored interior. His optics narrowed curiously only to widen. A curse escaped his vocalizer. What he'd found put everyone within a five mile radius in serious danger: the tank wasn't powered by gasoline or diesel like most other terrestrial vehicles were. In place of such an engine was a small container holding a small amount of nuclear material. As it was now it was no danger. But if the wrong wire was yanked or the holder suffered too much damage and cracked open, not only would the tank get blown to kingdom come, it would take everyone nearby with it. _And_ irradiate the surrounding region.

"Guys? This thing's got a fusion core inside it!" he shouted to those outside his world of pure data.

[Want me to just phase in and grab it?] Smokescreen offered. [Get rid of the power core and the tank'll stop running.]

"No! Far too dangerous. It's just under the main cabin. With all the stamping and jostling that's sure to happen, because I know the scanners in it will pick you up, a scuffle just above it could cause the container to weaken or even crack, causing the material inside to become unstable. We're here to retrieve stolen property and get it back to the rightful owners. We are _not_ here to start a miniature nuclear fallout in the general vicinity."

[...Oh.]

[So what do you think we should do?] demanded Bumblebee. [We can't keep it off you for much longer!]

He spun the three-dimensional display around a few times, enlarging it to twice its normal size. His optics followed dozens of lines of cabling and wiring at once. He found that many of the wires were hooked up to secondary systems like navigation, target locking, external video feed, and internal cooling. The cables were the ones carrying the energy from the fusion core to the main systems like the accelerator, brakes, and so on. All this data combined gave him an idea: Smokescreen might not be able to take the fusion core itself...but that didn't mean he couldn't pull a few wires. If nothing else, cutting power to the targeting systems would make Quillfire and Springload's efforts at shooting them much more difficult.

"Smokescreen, I'm sending you the schematics for the tank's wiring. Give the ones I've highlighted a good yank!"

[Gotcha!]

Schematics now seared into his processor, the inventor shuttered his optics for a moment. When he opened them again, the realm of data had been replaced by the real world. He was just in time to see Smokescreen slide out from the other side of the tank. Plastered on his faceplates was a gigantic smirk. Dangling from one of his hands was a bundle of wires which he passed to Windstorm, winking playfully.

"I assume these are the targeting system wires?"

Smokescreen's smirk broadened into a full-fledged manic grin as he directed his gaze back at the tank. The main cannon began to zero in on Strongarm, but at the last astrosecond the weapon seemed to change its mind, its powered energy blast impaling the concrete twenty paces behind her instead. The tank itself then seemed to have trouble deciding which direction to go – edging forward first, then turning to the left and right before finally sticking where it was out of frustrated confusion. One could almost hear Springload and Quillfire howling in annoyance within.

Windstorm glanced sideways at the other mech. "...You took out the external vid feed as well, didn't you?"

"Yep."

Nearby, Bumblebee emitted a laugh on overhearing them. "Nice work guys!" Smokescreen always had been one to go the extra mile. And Windstorm – whatever he'd been doing standing there in the middle of the road and moving his arms around, he wanted explanations about when this was over. It looked almost like he'd been in some conscious trance state.

"That is all well and good, but how do you propose we get the power core and the convicts out safely?" Drift wondered.

Windstorm's lightning yellow optics swept once over the tank as his mind went into overdrive. Lines of data and observations ignited like fires in his processor, one single thing tying them all together in a massive orb weaver's web: the Phase Shifter. That inconspicuous little device was the key to their success. A full sized mech using it would be far too risky as he'd said. Springload and/or Quillfire trying to attack the intangible target below them might inevitably cause disaster – especially since neither of them were that bright to begin with.

' _But not everyone here is full sized. The mini-cons! Perhaps one of them could use it! If one handled the power core at the exact time the other initiated a fight with our fugitives, we might just come out of this unscathed. So long as they're cautious, of course..._ '

"Drift? Which of your mini-cons is the best at tactical close-quarters?" Windstorm asked. "And which is the best at stealth? Whoever's the most skilled in the second will be working with Smokescreen."

Drift seemed to consider momentarily before choosing the disk-like object on his left arm. "Slipstream, assist Windstorm. Jetstorm, go to Smokescreen. Follow their orders to the letter. Do not deviate unless they give the word."

Both mini-cons nodded sharply before splitting off to join up with their assigned instructors, dodging a few stray shots from the tank's blind, infuriated passengers. Once explanations as to their respective tasks were complete, the Phase Shifter was handed to Jetstorm and Slipstream was given a lift into the air by Zodiac. The two hovered above the tank for about thirty seconds. Then, on a signal from Windstorm, the little mech was dropped directly onto the tank's hatch as Slipstream ghosted inside.

A heave at the handle later and he was in.

* * *

For upwards of two minutes they had neither visual nor audible confirmation of the mini-cons' success or failure. Though the tank remained idle the guns still continued to randomly shoot every which way. By the first minute Drift was beginning to look genuinely concerned. But right at the two minute marker there was a strange noise like the hiss of an angry giant feline followed by the main cannon slumping forward. The smaller, bullet-fed guns followed suite. Soon thereafter the engine emitted a low, almost gurgling growl as if in protest.

Then, silence – the kind where it was impossible to determine if victory or resounding defeat had occurred.

Drift grew wary enough to contact them. "Slipstream? Jetstorm? Report!"

Worry gripped at his spark when no reply came. He was marginally relieved to note that he wasn't the only one concerned and plainly resisting the urge to rush forward to check on the little mechs. Right when everyone looked ready to do just that, the tank's hatch popped open and Jetstorm hopped out. He looked a bit hassled and exhausted but was unharmed. Slipstream phased out of the tank's underbelly moments later, one hand gripping a long tube-like object glowing with energy which he gingerly handed to an approaching Windstorm.

"Container appears intact." Windstorm noted to himself as he examined it. He nodded at the mini-con at his pedes. "Job well done, Slipstream."

The mini-con politely nodded thanks and handed back the Phase Shifter to its rightful owner. Jetstorm leapt off the tank and made his way over, reporting that the convicts were presently unconscious within the tank's main cabin – one out from electrical overload, the other from some variety of neurotoxin. How long their conditions would last he couldn't say, but it would be best to get them in stasis pods as soon as possible.

Both mini-cons then cast their gazes up at Drift like politely expecting puppies. The bounty hunter looked down at them with his eternally stern expression, seeming ready to simply nod and complete the mission without any words of congratulation. A sideways glance showed Smokescreen, Bumblebee, Grimlock, and Sideswipe glaring at him silently. A glance downwards revealed Frostbite with the same look. Thus, the sternness faded somewhat, unveiling a surprisingly friendly underside to the otherwise stoic mech. The hardness in his optics softened.

"Well done. Both of you." Drift complimented.

Slipstream and Jetstorm looked at each other and grinned happily before they assumed more serious airs and bowed respectfully to their mentor. "Thank you, Master Drift."

"See? Was that so hard?" Backdraft wondered innocently with wide amber optics, playfully elbowing him.

Drift eyed him sideways, the hardness in his optics returning. "...Don't push it, stunter. My generosity has limits."

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'll admit, Windstorm's "ability" is based largely on the Librarian Cassandra from** _ **The Librarians**_ **TV series. I highly recommend the show, but before you do - go watch the three movies first. It's like Indiana Jones mixed with the quirky humor of** _ **Doctor Who.**_ **Very funny, very enjoyable. Flynn and Ezekiel are my favorites of the TV franchise. :)**

 **Also, 5,000 word chapter! Yay! I would've done more with this, but eh. I'm content with it. But next chapter with Octopunch is gonna be far more interesting. :P (On a personal note, I've gotten three 4-7,000 word chapters out this break! I'm on a roll here!)**


	20. Chapter 20: Sleepsong

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 20**

* * *

Fracture had to admit that he was intrigued by his target this time around. Being obsessed with hitting his target was normal. He was in it for the bounty after all, or else getting the target before that cursed holier-than-thou Drift so he could rub it in his faceplates. But fascination? That was new to him.

His micro-cam had lost physical sight of the Seeker due to her faster flight speed. Fortunately her flight trail was easy enough to follow, and due to the wilderness terrain for miles around she had elected not to cloak herself. That had only made following her even easier. And so it had eventually caught up with her at the scrapyard and found a nice little nook from which to observe her. Just to be sure she wouldn't would spot him, he made the micro-cam stay in the lengthening shadows. Soon enough the darkness would hide it completely.

He observed her pause a bit stiffly and look around the apparently empty scrapyard, Predacon yellow optics puzzled. He honestly shared her confusion. To leave the scrapyard completely devoid of guards was utterly reckless on the part of the Autobots. No matter the priority of other escaped convicts, to leave a foothold unprotected was stupid to the nth degree. Sentenza – the Nightdemon – was a force to be reckoned with for sure, but she couldn't defend such a large area entirely by herself. Because as powerful as she was, she was just one femme with a cloaker, an energy scythe, and a cargo-hauler's worth of ruthlessness. No longer was she the lethal phantasm spoken of by other Decepticons in hushed, terrified whispers. The Demon had been made mortal.

" _Charity?_ " he heard her call out. " _I'm back! Where are you?_ "

The ensuring brief bout of silence made the Seeker femme tense visibly. Her hand hovered over the black bar on her hip. But she relaxed when a voice shouted in reply:

" _Back here! Hang on, I'll be there in a klik!_ "

He watched Sentenza relax further, a smile forming on her lip-plates. Behind her, the alien sun sank further until it framed her helm. Fracture had to admit that right then the Seeker femme looked downright bewitching. He could well understand why the boy scout cop Counterforce had fallen for her. She truly was magnificent in her own right despite being so dangerous. Beautiful yet deadly – a combination he himself found attractive. It was almost a shame she had to die...but she needed to pay for killing so many other Decepticons.

Oh, and also taking some of his bounties. That was his main motivation for going along with this insane plan.

Fracture continued to watch. Within a minute local time a very cute, very dainty looking femme sprinted into the area Sentenza was waiting. Hanging from this one's hip was a masterfully crafted photoharp of silver metal and pale green energy strings – custom made from the look of the thing. Must've cost her quite a bit. Any thief in their right minds might have a go at such a pretty object, but he could only imagine how it sounded.

Both femmes touched palms in a casual greeting.

" _Are you alright? No...issues out there or on the way back?_ " the femme called Charity asked. Her jade optics flicked up to note the alien sun's position as it hovered above the right on the horizon, then back down.

The way she had said "issues" and her glancing at the sun made Fracture's expression morph into one of intrigued confusion. Was she referring to the Nightdemon? If so, it showed Steeljaw and the others weren't the only ones wary of her. Interesting, possibly useful data. With the right scheme they might be able to turn every one of the Autobots against her, leaving her entirely alone save for the stubbornly loyal Counterforce. That might just make their job easier.

Sentenza shook her helm, replying: _"No. Got frustrated on coming up empty-handed and had to take a break. Minor surge due to emotional instability, but I got it under control._ "

" _No 'Cons, huh?_ "

" _Like I said to Counterforce, they've had more than enough time by this point to scatter far from the crash site. Some of 'em could be a state or more away by now. And if they know I'm here, that's just another slagged good reason for them to get the Pit away. Kinda happy I didn't find anyone if you know what I mean. You saw what happened in the clearing with Steeljaw that first night...I don't want to become that again."_

Her voice lowered suddenly, becoming slightly more raspy and desperate sounding. The micro-cam barely picked up her next words:

" _Charity_ , _I swear it's getting worse. The longer I stay here, the more unstable the night code gets. Even now I can still feel it, trying to get out...I don't know how much longer I can fight it. And you wanna know the scariest part? Some tiny little sliver of me doesn't want to. That part wants to know what would happen if I just stopped fighting it. I know what happened on Cybertron, but here? Something's different._ "

At that she sank to ground, hunching her knees up to her chestplates as she gave a tired, world-weary sigh. The Seeker femme looked on the verge of crying and or screaming at the heavens until her vocalizer glitched.

" _You don't know how exhausting it is to fight yourself, day in and day out. I think it's a fight I'm doomed to lose..._ "

Fracture was now riveted to the feed screen. The Nightdemon was some sort of malware? And she had trouble fighting it? Hm. Another scrap of potentially useful data.

He watched as Charity gave a little smile and put a hand on the Seeker's shoulder armor. Then she let it fall and detached the instrument from her hip. Haunting, fluid notes flowed from both it and the femme's vocalizer. The bounty hunter, even listening remotely, felt himself relax almost against his will, his aggression and tension slipping away. He remembered this song. His Guardian used to hum it to him occasionally when he was just a sparkling. He leaned forward on the console, red optics shuttering. Lovely it was...you could lose yourself in the harmonies. Yes, lose yourself...

With a start he forced himself to snap back to the task at hand, forcing his optics to open and focus on the screen. Sentenza no longer looked ready to snap into a mental breakdown. She appeared relaxed now. Fascinated and a bit puzzled, he ran a diagnostic of his processor out of curiosity and blinked in surprise. The parts that governed aggressive behavior were far lower in activity than normal, and the ones that governed higher functions such as logical thought, and worst of all, compassion, were spiking hard. He could only suspect the same thing was true of the Seeker's processor.

One brow ridge rose as he kept watching. Now _that_ was interesting. Steeljaw needed to know about this. Sweet as the femme was, she posed a very distinct risk to to the mech's plan for Sentenza.

* * *

Bumblebee was relieved to no end when they finally got back to the salvage yard. He wasn't exhausted physically as much as he was exhausted of patience. Almost the whole drive back, Backdraft and Sideswipe had teased and playfully tormented Drift about his sudden little spurt of kindness. Even Russell and Zodiac had gotten in on the gig. The conscientious bounty hunter had responded back with either monosyllables or outright silence that practically seethed with annoyance. He'd finally convinced the two menaces to zip it about halfway home only for the rest of the drive to be awkwardly silent.

Now that they were back (thank the Allspark) he could safely separate them before fireworks started going off again.

"You two, go help Strongarm and Grimlock get our 'Cons back into their pods. Windstorm, make sure they're secure this time."

Windstorm started of but paused and turned around curiously. "Want me to work on another pod? I got several of them partially started before this whole fiasco started up."

He told him that wasn't necessary. He'd helped take down an uber-tank by basically dismantling it with his mind. He deserved some down time. His poor processor was probably running on fumes by this point. A tired mind was prone to making mistakes. The inventor honestly looked more than happy not to argue the point, saying he'd ensure the integrity of the two pods before going through with the order for some recharge time. He admitted a solid joor or so sounded delightful right about now. His helm was aching something fierce.

"Zodiac, Fix-It, would you mind assisting me?"

Fix-It said he'd be delighted to help in any way at the same moment the metal hawk transformed with a flourish. The expression on her faceplates was one of faint, very awkward uncertainty. When she spoke, her voice came quickly, rather like a sparkling trying to make up an excuse on the fly:

"Ah, electrical engineering isn't really my thing, sparky. But sure. I mean, I-I know enough of the basics to catch a super obvious error. Which a tired processor is likely to make. Proven by numerous studies. T-That's not sayin' you will, just..." She seemed to realize she was rambling. "Yeah. I'll help."

Bumblebee, Smokescreen, Drift, and Counterforce watched the three nerds head off towards the pods. Mere moments later, Grimlock stomped by with Springload slung over his broad shoulders. Strongarm was right on his tail and happily dragged Quillfire by the heel strut. Behind the two slunk the pristine pale blue and white form of Frostbite, ever on the alert should one of the two awaken before they were safely contained in their cells. Bumblebee nodded to himself.

All in all it had been a successful day for them. No one was hurt, two 'Cons had been recaptured, the stolen tank had been left where it was and coordinates anonymously forwarded to the military, and Sentenza...

The former war scout froze. "Guys? Where's Sentenza?"

His answer came when Charity popped into existence from around an isle of antiques. She must have overheard his frantic question for she told him that the Seeker femme was safely hidden in her little spot outside the walls. Nothing was wrong with her aside from being understandably strained and, to be honest with him, frustrated and depressed. She was perfectly fine; there was absolutely no need to fly into panic attacks. Those emotions were presently being dealt with thanks to some meditation and auditory therapy. Hopefully by the time the Earth's star sank or sometime soon thereafter she would be in power down. She'd just left her for a moment to check on everyone once she'd heard the gates open.

"Why would she require specialized attention from you, medic? Is something wrong with her?" Drift wondered. He'd met her in Kaon once or twice and she'd seemed quite civil if a bit grim and harmlessly flirtatious. Nothing had appeared to the matter with her then.

The bounty hunter's innocent question was met with uncertain glances between the four individuals.

"Uhhh..." Smokescreen began, eyeing Counterforce sideways. "That's...kind of confidential information, pal. To be blunt, we're not sure if we can trust you with it. Let's just say you being a bounty hunter may or may not have something to do with that. Until we know you won't shoot her, stab her, or cuff her and drag her aft to the Council, that information is staying that way."

"Trust me, it's not personal. We probably wouldn't even tell Jazz if he asked that question. I mean, slag, I'm surprised CF trusted all of us with it in the first place. He barely knew any of us. 'Cause believe me – this isn't exactly info you go tossing into the air like beads at Mardi Gras. This...it's dark. _Really_ dark." Bumblebee added.

Drift frowned but nodded in understanding, ignoring the inexplicable simile. Obviously Sentenza harbored a dark secret that would, under common definition, label her as dangerous or perhaps even a criminal. The honorable part of his processor told him it was not his place nor right to nose into something that these young 'Bots were so willing to defend. They held her in a certain degree of trust, clearly. But still...he found himself wondering what that secret might be. If tone was anything to go by, something was seriously wrong with her. And so the question he asked himself was this:

If the Seeker's secret was so dark, so possibly dangerous, why then would the others trust her enough to shield her? If she was a danger, why shelter her at all?

"How might I earn that trust?"

The four mechs blinked in surprise. Drift wasn't suggesting what they thought he was...was he?

Denny stepped into the conversation from nearby. "I'd invite you to stick around and earn it; y'know, work with her first-hand. But, ah, well...we've kind of got a full house here. I can only hide so many giant aliens on my property before someone sees something and posts it online. I mean, you're more than welcome to stop by and lend a hand whenever or crash for a few hours, but..." The man shrugged expressively: "I'm just outta room here."

"Tell you what: do you think you could hop back on your ship and update the Council as to what's going on here?" Counterforce suggested. "We've got no way of communicating with Cybertron, so we're pretty much relying on couriers to carry the messages. You're in their good graces. Mind you, that's just a request. You don't have to do it. You could stay if you really want to help. But if you want our trust – want _her_ trust – if you do go, don't tell them about the spacebridge hijacking, okay? We were singled out and sent here to help deal with this breakout, and we can't do that if we're locked up on Cybertron."

"And frankly we're trying to keep this breakout on the down low. 'Bee told me that Jazz updated the Council before we all got here; don't know exactly what he said, but he did ask him not to tell everything." Smokescreen added.

The bounty hunter's frown deepened as his morality warred against the request to lie. What troubled him even more was that the mech making the request of him was naturally honest.

[Master Drift? May I make a suggestion?] Jetstorm asked.

"You may. What is it?"

[What if you told them _of_ the hijacking, but not the true cause of it? Tell them it was a-a system's wide bug or something along those lines.]

[And that a few "unfortunate individuals" investigating a possible hacker were sucked into the vortex, perhaps?] Slipstream added.

His frown lightened marginally. Technically it was still lying, but in a fairly harmless, white lie manner, and at the very least he wasn't keeping information from the Council – just...modifying it a bit. Jetstorm's excuse would take some tweaking to make it fully believable – why would a medic and an astronomer investigate a hacker for instance – but he believed he might be able to use it. After all, the Council mayn't believe him if he told the true cause of the unauthorized spacebridge usage anyway. If this was the only way to earn Sentenza's trust...then so be it.

"Very well. I will stay for a short time, then return to Cybertron once I have something more substantial to report to the Council."

Bumblebee smiled rather wryly. "Fair deal. Thanks, Drift." Even as he said that he silently radioed Frostbite to guard Sentenza's hiding spot and to keep Drift away if he got too close. With night about to fall, Sentenza had enough strain on her without dealing with an overly curious bounty hunter.

The Canipid grunted back that he would.

* * *

Fracture had moved the micro-cam from its previous hiding place as stealthily as possible. He made the little spy-bot follow the Seeker towards the southern wall, always keeping just out of sight. When she leapt over, he was forced to wait until she slid into a small conglomeration of metal that provided basic shelter from the elements. Once he was sure she was comfortable in her spot, he flew the micro-cam up into the low boughs of a tree where it at present sat watching her. She was in the same hunched up position as she had been earlier, but something in her optics – a dullness – caught him by surprise. She looked like a depressed, inwardly focused black statue.

He noted a bit curiously a quick flash of movement through the shrubbery nearby. When the source came out in the open, he was puzzled to see a furry Earth creature even smaller than a mini-con, about the size of a scraplet. It slunk towards the metal shelter and vanished inside. He was stunned to see it nuzzle up against the Seeker's heel a few times, Sentenza looking down to stroke it once or twice. Her expression did not change though, and soon enough her focus went back into the depths of the forest. The creature, sensing its presence was not needed, left her side and vanished out of visual range of the micro-cam.

For the first time he wished he was there watching her in person so he could get a better grasp of her emotional state. Solely visual observation could only tell one so much. Observing first-hand allowed for an analysis of the target's field and thus a greater understanding of what they were feeling. But with the sun having now sunken below the horizon, and with him now knowing what the Nightdemon truly was, getting anywhere near her would be suicide. Isolated as she was right now, he knew for a fact Charity would soon return.

And return she did. Barely half a breem had passed before the dainty healer returned. He motioned for Steeljaw to come over and see for himself the enchanting effect of her voice and 'harp.

"Keep a close watch on your processor functions." he warned the other.

Steeljaw gave him an odd look but nodded. What Fracture had told him earlier was downright incredible – so incredible he'd insisted on seeing and hearing it for himself. He knew for himself that certain frequencies could affect a Cybertronian mind and even body for good or ill, but such specific targeting of processor regions – to where the subconscious and conscious mind were detectably altered – that was new to him; to say that it was immensely interesting would be putting it mildly. If this was some new kind of talent, he wanted to know precisely how it worked.

And whether or not it could be manipulated for his purposes.

Both mechs watched as Charity returned to the Seeker's hiding place. Steeljaw was interested to note that the medic did not get closer than the wall itself, seating herself atop it. Obviously she knew of the risk Sentenza posed after dark as well as any of them, but her expression showed no fear. All he and Fracture saw was overwhelming kindness as she detached the photoharp from her hip. And thus, Charity began to play. The instrument's ethereal notes flowed and wafted like early morning mist. Then, Charity's voice entered – not mere humming but actual, tangible words...

The two Decepticons froze.

* * *

Drift stuck to his promise to patrol the perimeter. Slipstream and Jetstorm recharged silently on his arms. After their endeavors earlier in the afternoon their systems needed some time to recover. As he walked he made note of the various ways the salvage yard's defenses could be increased, though the increase in Bumblebee's squadron size was encouraging to him. More warriors meant it was less likely Fracture would attempt a calculated ambush. He had managed against Bumblebee's smaller team due to surprise. These new reinforcements – they seemed quite experienced.

He rounded a corner that led to the southern wall and froze at what he heard then: the soothing chords of a photoharp, and a voice – the most beautiful voice he had ever heard:

" _May you sail fair to the far fields of fortune,_

 _With diamonds and pearls, at your head and your feet._

 _And may you need never to banish misfortune,_

 _May you find kindness in all that you meet..."_

His tight limbs lost their tension. The iron bands around his spark loosened. A faint but truly genuine smile formed. It wasn't a lullaby from home but it was beautiful nonetheless. So absorbed in listening to more of the lullaby that he barely detected the low growl of warning, but before he could determine where it had come from he felt himself forced to the ground, though it felt more like being tackled. He was stunned to find Frostbite pinning him on his back, fangs bared in a threat. That he wasn't dripping liquid nitrogen was of some little comfort.

"Frostbite? What in the name of the Allspark are you doing?" demanded the bounty hunter in a hiss. "I thought we were in agreement that I wasn't an enemy!"

His audials pinned back. [I've orders to keep you away from this wall.]

"What for? All I can hear is...someone singing. Who is that?"

The Canipid's helm lifted towards where the voice was coming from. His snarl faded, claws retracted. Then...he simply removed himself, allowing Drift to get to his pedes. Drift didn't what was more incredible – the Predacon disobeying someone's orders or the voice continuing in the background that had seemed to lull the protective anger right out of him.

[I think it's best you see for yourself.] Frostbite said. He added faintly that he would get in so much trouble for this. But he did admit aloud that it would better for Drift to see this now, under peaceful circumstances, rather than later under less desirable ones. He had to swear on his spark that the what he was about to see would go no further than the walls of this salvage yard, though. This was highly confidential.

Turning, Frostbite trotted off, flicking his tail in a "follow-me" gesture. Not knowing what else to do, Drift obeyed. Secretly he was thankful the lullaby was keeping his mini-cons out of it. Whatever the Canipid was going to show him, that invitation might not extend to them, and the mech did not desire more conflict with him. Frostbite's protectiveness of his allies rendered him quick to flare against anyone he deemed as too intrusive – no matter how innocently. In an odd way, admirable.

As they neared, the music and lovely voice grew louder. Through the dense shrubbery a mass of metal could be seen that might vaguely be considered a shelter of sorts. A life sign was faintly detectable within, but something about the way its waveform pattern was behaving got him curious. It was very similar to the one a Cybertronian experienced when in deep meditation, almost a conscious trance or stasis lock. That was not his point of focus, however. When the two paused at a thick clustering of trees, the cause of the sounds was made as clear as a gunshot on a still night. Drift found himself blinking in disbelief, felt his jaw drop of its own accord.

The one strumming the photoharp, the one singing so beautifully...was Charity. Her tri-shade green body was washed the first of the silver beams coming from the rising moon, igniting her body and making her resemble some ancient, benevolent spirit. And from the way her jade optics would occasionally open and eye the make-shift shelter, it was plain she was singing _to_ someone.

"Who? Why?" he murmured.

[I would tell you to go and see for yourself. Will say that if you choose that course there's a chance you'll die. If you choose not to, I'm not at liberty to inform you. Yet.]

One brow ridge rose. Drift looked first at the shelter, then the medic, then back again. After a three full Earth minutes the bounty hunter seemed to come to a decision. He cast one last look at Charity, smiled softly, and turned on his heel struts...and left. Whether it was due to his better judgement speaking or the effects of Charity's 'harp, the Canipid couldn't say. Perhaps it was both – the latter affecting the former. Frostbite's keen audials _did_ however pick up gentle humming from Drift's vocalizer that matched the melody the femme medic was singing. And that gave him all the answer he really needed.

The beast-former's tail swished as he lay down on his belly, returning to his sentry duty with a low rumble from deep in his chest. Drift certainly acted strict and unmoving, but if one found a way to remove the cage around his spark he became a different person. He became softer, gentler and – dare he say it – almost kind. He had to admit, Drift was more tolerable like this than the way he was normally.

His helm lifted, locking on Charity. She seemed to sense the scrutiny, jade optics opening, and looked at him during a voice-less instrumental segment. A smile formed as one optic shuttered rapidly in a wink. Then she turned her attention back to the task at hand, still smiling softly to herself. The music seemed to become even more beautiful, even more flowing and soothing. Her voice echoed out into the woods.

Frostbite's fanged maw curled into a smile of his own. His helm lowered in a bow before it came to rest on his forepaws. His icy blue optics shuttered.

' _Nicely done, healer. Nicely done._ '

* * *

"Now _that_ is interesting."

That comment came from Steeljaw after Charity's enrapturing performance. Fracture's warning hadn't proven unsubstantiated. Throughout the medic's haunting lullaby his processor functions had undergone a swift, almost drastic change from violent and cunning to passive and gentle. It had taken all his willpower to resist the change, and even after her singing had stopped the effects still lingered like an infection.

"Any idea how she does it?" Fracture wondered. He had felt the effects as well and was equally fascinated, but he was no scientist.

"My guess is that her instrument emits certain frequencies in conjunction with the normal, audible ones it produces naturally. Those other frequencies enable her to influence another's mind by stimulating or depressing certain portions of an active processor. The music she plays with it serves to further enhance them; rather like a psychic tuning fork resonating with a partner if you will. Makes me think the instrument is custom made. Whether or not she made it or modified it herself I can't say."

"But what's she doing it for? Does she even know she's manipulating others?"

"Oh, I think she's very much aware even if she doesn't quite understand _how_ she's doing it." Steeljaw smiled crookedly. "As for why – well, you heard what the Nightdemon is: a malicious corruption in her personality coding. During daylight hours it appears to be naturally suppressed for some reason (we'll discover that with further observation) but at night Sentenza's will is usually too weak to fight the darker impulses. That means she needs help. Knowing those two facts, take a guess."

Fracture's red optics widened by a fraction. "She's controlling the corrupted coding by suppressing it, forcing it into remission. Or I guess here she's just putting her under for the night. Safety precaution I'm guessing. It seems to me that the 'Bots know about her little 'issue' and don't fully trust her after dark. But still, to be able to put the Nightdemon under..."

He stared at the screen in shocked silence where a live feed of the slumbering Seeker was displayed. The dainty healer had left the scene once her melody was complete, but he found himself transfixed on the spot where she had been. Something about her was hypnotic now, almost other worldly. Her voice could literally tame a monster – or more accurately, lull it to sleep. That was some talent. No wonder Charity wasn't afraid of her. She had her own unique means of defense.

Steeljaw's crooked smile became even more twisted.

"Exactly. And if there's a way to suppress it...there's most certainly a way to _incite_ it."

Fracture grinned darkly back.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well, first week of 2nd semester went with a bang! 3.2 GPA last semester. Hoping to make it even higher this semester. My teachers this time around are just as awesome and fun, and thus far I don't have any homework yet, so I'm able to keep writing. Literature looks like it might actually be fun since the class is so small (10 kids total) and the teacher is very lively.**

 ***Note 1: The song Charity is singing this chapter is called "Sleepsong" by Secret Garden. Go look it up on YouTube. It's gorgeous. :)**

 **Note 2: I'd make this chapter longer but it's not an "episode" chapter. It's more like a teeny intermission. I mean, it's** _ **almost**_ **5,000 words.**

 **After starting "Stray Cat Strut," Tumbler will be making brief little cameo like appearances in chapters now every so often from here on out. I like my continuity. :3**


	21. Chapter 21: Why Should I Worry?

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 21**

 _*Just another intermission chapter, longer this time. Felt these guys need a bit of a respite after everything that's gone on. Don't worry – this one's more fun. ;) Besides, this one works into the next episode. I like progression, and I felt it was going a bit too fast until now._

* * *

Drift eventually grew weary of circling the salvage yard while avoiding one wall. At the gates the bounty hunter paused, audials still picking up the soft notes of the photoharp. Much as he wanted to return to the south wall where Charity was still playing, he was wise enough to heed Frostbite's warning to not be daft and risk his hide, and noble enough to not nose into something that wasn't his business. So he simply leaned against the cement walls and crossed his arms over his chest. He'd found no evidence of Fracture and he felt he wasn't likely to either. Fracture never employed the same tactics twice. He was too smart for that – and too devious.

He was somewhat surprised when Frostbite rounded the corner. The Canipid bowed his helm in greeting as he emitted a soft growl. Then he plodded over to his side and sat down on his haunches. His tail wished idly every few breems, and his audials swiveled constantly as they traced dozens of noises too soft for Drift to hear. Other than those movements the beast-former was still as a statue.

"Why are you here, Frostbite? I thought you were guarding the south wall."

[Just...thought you could use some company. Your little friends aren't very chatty right now I'm guessing.] He pawed at the ground a little awkwardly. [And, ah, I wanted to apologize for attacking you. Twice. Instinctive reaction. Predaking taught me to always be alert – to never take chances. Don't want anything to happen to Charity. She's too sweet. And Sentenza. That femme's going through enough as is. Doesn't need more problems.] He glanced up briefly. [No offense.]

This had to be the most he'd ever heard the noble beast talk. He'd said half this much during his Russell-assisted scolding earlier in the solar cycle. Was Frostbite truly warming to him as a friend or was he just trying to make peace to prevent conflict? It was hard to tell. He rarely let emotions slip into his speech, and the only emotions he'd ever seen displayed thus far were annoyance, protective anger, and a poker-face like attitude that would make Shockwave green with envy. Reading Frostbite was a task even a Prime might have trouble with. He just didn't seem to allow anyone in completely.

"None taken. I am employed by the Council and I will admit that at times their dealings are...less than honorable. Fracture is proof of that. If they want a criminal captured, they send me. If they want a dangerous criminal terminated – Fracture is sent out. And you can see here how ill-placed that trust was. Trust should never be placed in a Decepticon."

Frostbite let out a low, humming growl of contemplation but said nothing. After a while he silently rose to his paws and trotted off to resume his warding of the south wall, leaving Drift alone with his own thoughts. But every so often during the course of the night, the Canipid's pale blue and white helm would peek around the corner to check on him before vanishing again like a ghost. Even when Charity's music faded at around midnight, he still kept checking on Drift at his post by the gates.

The bounty hunter couldn't help smiling a little at those times.

* * *

At around two-thirty in the morning local time, Drift's field reacted to a presence behind him on the walls. He turned to see a small furry Earth animal resembling a fuzzy Felioid watching him through exceptionally large green optical sensors. He frowned suspiciously, waving a hand to shoo it away. The creature offered a rather disappointed sounding mewl and trotted off down the wall as if it owned the property, tail down. It rounded the corner onto another wall and soon was gone.

Bumblebee hadn't told him that animals paid the base a visit. But since it was still around and acted harmless, perhaps he didn't need to take this to him.

"Rise and shine, sleepin' beauty!"

" _GAH!_ "

Sentenza had jolted online in a flash, had whipped out her scythe, and instinctively pointed it at where she felt would either be the chestplates or neck cables of an enemy. The voice that had said those words was growly and low as if it belonged to a large target. Her startled, constantly wary processor was saying to attack now, but her spark was screaming at her to stay her weapon. It took less than a klik to find out the reason for this contradiction of action.

Standing there with his clawed hands up in the air in front of him, blue optics wide as saucers, and his heavily armored body stiff as a post...was Grimlock. Those selfsame saucer-wide blue optics were focused on the energy blade of her scythe positioned just under his neck. And the weapon was a mere inch or so away at that.

"Whoa, whoa! E-Easy! Cool it, Sen! It's just me!"

She let out a relieved, somewhat aggravated sigh: "Frack it, Grimlock. You're lucky I didn't take your helm off. Didn't 'Bee warn you not to sneak up on me?"

He rubbed a hand awkwardly against the back of his helm. One thick brow ridge rose curiously. She hadn't heard him stompin' through the woods to come get her? At all? Geez. She must be one heavy recharger.

At that she managed a wry smile. She admitted that she was exhausted from the other day, and Charity's auditory therapy the other evening had really konked her out. Honestly, she hadn't recharged that well since she was a sparkling. No night terrors to haunt her dreams at all, just the sweet, sweet obliviousness of deep power down. Charity had really outdone herself this time around. That femme really knew her stuff. But, yeah. No sneaking up on her again. That could've ended very badly, and she'd rather not have to explain to Bumblebee why his heavy hitter was suddenly missing his helm.

She was glad to see the Dinobot relax at this little admission and warning. His hands lowered to his sides and a toothy grin formed. He was more comfortable around her. Good. The more people who trusted her the less a chance there was of Her considering them a threat if something went wrong one night. That was a funny rule with the Demon: so long as you were on Her side, well and truly, there was a good possibility of you being ignored by Her if you did something that set Her off. She'd pass you by for more substantial targets. Like Steeljaw.

The Seeker watched Grimlock open a small panel on his side. He then brought out a small cube of glowing blue Energon which he offered to her a bit shyly. He said that Charity had given it to him to give to her, 'cause she figured after flying around cloaked all afternoon had drained her a lot. Sentenza herself had said that flying cloaked burned through her fuel reserves pretty fast, so, um, yeah. A-And she thought her emotions had done a number on her, too. Charity had also mentioned to him that she'd had a little...trouble the other evening.

Sentenza took the offered cube from his hand with a murmured thank you, taking a sip of the fuel. She had barely paid attention to her physical health the other day and thus had barely noticed the warning her systems were giving, saying she was low on fuel. With that little sip the bothersome notification vanished. Having even that small amount of energy restored made a world of difference, and her systems begged for more.

Grimlock grinned and motioned for her. "C'mon. Sides, Backdraft, and Russell are doing something in the yard and it's kinda nuts. You gotta see it. Drift and Strongarm think they've totally lost it. 'Bee and everyone else swears they're geniuses."

She laughed. "Counterforce would say that there's a fine line between genius and madness. Windstorm's proof of it, and if you ask me I say those two wouldn't know sanity if it came up and bit them."

And so Grimlock led her towards the gate at a steadily eager pace while she followed behind, calmly sipping at the offered morning ration and feeling for once on this world that all was well. The two miscreants were up to trouble under supervision this time, she'd had a nice night's recharge and she now had a much-wanted cube of fuel. Best start to her solar cycle she'd had in a long time. But she was smart enough not to think those famous last words:

"What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

"They're mad." Drift observed, one brow ridge rising as he watched the bizarre scene before him.

At his side, Bumblebee and Smokescreen laughed. How the bounty hunter failed to see this as both awesome and utterly hilarious was beyond them. Because it really was. No one else present was restraining their amusement. Not even Denny, and it was his property being messed with. The older human had even brought out his cell phone and started videoing the hilarity. He didn't have the heart to call the two off, because the idea they had going was actually a pretty decent one – jury-rigged sure, but not all that bad he had to admit.

Backdraft and Sideswipe were precariously perched atop two of the isle shelves which was now empty of items, parallel to one another. The two miscreants had just finished up positioning two old football goals alongside their individual isles, and now Backdraft was at present busy connecting a few old carnival rocket rides to some smaller poles and industrial hinges that attached to the top of the goals, Sideswipe holding his side of the rig as still as possible. Even more amazing was that Backdraft was using his arm-mounted flame throwers as impromptu welding torches – and top it off, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

That was the unusual but incredible sight that met the returning Sentenza and Grimlock. The Seeker femme nearly spat out the Energon in her mouth when she saw the rather dangerous position the two were in. She blinked as if to try to convince her optics that what she was seeing was some sort of hallucination. But no. It wasn't. This was seriously happening.

" _What_ are you two dimwatts _doing_?" she demanded slowly.

"Makin' an obstacle course." Sideswipe explained simply. "What's it look like? Shakespeare in the park?"

Sentenza lifted one slender brow ridge. "...An obstacle course."

"Roger dodger." Backdraft grinned.

"In the salvage yard. Made out of Denny's property."

"Yep." Sideswipe confirmed with a grin of his own.

"And he's...okay with this?"

Backdraft laughed and proceeded to assure her that they had in fact gotten his permission to do this before they'd done anything. Actually, if she wanted to ask him he was standing right the-

That was as far as he got. When he tried to motion with his hand where Denny was in the gathering, he lost his grip on the goal, as it wasn't just Sideswipe who was holding the rig steady. It wobbled at the sudden lack of a second hand, and in his haste the Altihexian tried a bit too quickly to grip the bar and thus missed it entirely. And so he teetered on the edge of the shelf for an astrosecond before tumbling off like a pile of ungraceful bricks. His yelp was cut short when his faceplates met the dirt in a thud, the rest of his body following suite a klik later.

Everyone, even Drift, winced in unison. But the mech got up within only a few kliks, and to everyone's surprise he was grinning and laughing like he'd just had the time of his life.

"I was right. He is mad." Drift reiterated.

The Altihexian skipped to the bounty hunter's side, casually laying an arm around his shoulder while still grinning. He laughed again, teasing him that he needed to loosen up and learn to enjoy the ride. He shouldn't let every little scrape and spill ruin it for him! Things like that fall happened. You just had to pick yourself up, laugh it off, and jump right back onto the fantastical ride called "life."

"You should try it sometime, Drift-y! It's super fun!"

Drift merely gave him an odd look, resulting in both miscreants laughing along with 'Bee, Smokescreen, Counterforce, and Grimlock. The stunt biker was probably the craziest of the new arrivals due to his complete lack of fear, but his philosophical side was just as prominent. He had a strange sort of practical wisdom. If anyone could teach the notoriously stiff bounty hunter to loosen up and not take something so seriously, they had no doubts he would be the one to break through to him. Crazy as Backdraft was, you just couldn't hate the guy. He was the rare sort of personality you either wanted to slap for his insanity or laugh along with _because_ he was nuttier than a fruit bat.

"You are _crazy_ , Flame-Brain! What, are your pain receptors faulty, too?" Sideswipe cackled.

Again the stunt biker laughed. "I've taken worse falls than that before, Sides! Trust me! When I was just starting out I took such a bad fall I was in a clinic for four lunar cycles! But soon as the doc gave me the all clear I was back out on the roads. Never made a slip-up that bad again, actually. Only got better after that. Well, I mean, I had a _few_ slip ups but none as bad as that first one."

"So you learn the hard way. Why am I not surprised?" Strongarm deadpanned.

"No, he's not a hard learner. He's a practical learner. There _is_ a difference, cadet." Bumblebee defended smilingly. "Explaining something is all well and good, but a practical learner needs to get out in the field and test it out for themselves. And, well, sometimes they goof it up. No one gets anything new to them right the first go around. But so long as you keep letting them try things out – and even keep letting them screw up – they'll learn what to do and what _not_ to do."

"Practice makes perfect, right?" Smokescreen agreed, winking.

"Actually, what you say makes sense." said Charity. "I don't work in Altihex, but from what I hear from friends over there a lot of Altihexians are like that. Some sort of mass code quirk unique to them. It's more or less the reason Altihex is called 'City of Daredevils.' They're doers, not book learners. They would much rather try something out in the field (and risk messing it up) than have someone tell them word-for-word exactly what to do. They're...they're improvisers, really. And you'd be surprised how clever some of them get to be."

They watched as Sideswipe very carefully helped Backdraft up onto his shelf. Then, with grace more befitting of a Panthron, the lighter weight stunt biker leapt across to his own shelf and balanced himself within only a few kilks. Crouching down, he took hold of his own end of the goal and set back to work.

"But...Backdraft, you are a stunt biker. How in the world do you know advanced welding and construction techniques?" Drift wondered aloud. "Those two fields of work are about as far apart from each other as possible. One requires recklessness and prompt action; the other requires patience, forethought, and meticulous pre-planning."

"Hah! Not so much difference as ya might think, Drift-y. See, just 'cause I act insane don't mean I really am! Got a good processor on me, don't mean to brag. Knack for welding and architecture growin' up, so I got a bit of what you might call an ' _understanding_ ' with the building crews back home. If I'm not stuck in one of the precincts for causin' too much trouble, and if I'm just driving the roads and pass a crew by, I'll lend 'em a hand with their project. Offer 'em some pointers, help out as an extra hand, y'know? In return, the crew let me goof off in the area nearby and won't report me unless I do somethin' real stupid."

"Such as?" Strongarm prompted. Oh, _this_ she wanted to hear.

"...Does jumpin' off one of the towers trying to hitch a ride on a flier count as 'real stupid' d'ya think?"

Drift's optics practically bulged at this incredible statement. "Please tell me that is _not_ something you actually attempted."

"Please tell me you _did_!" Russell, Grimlock, and Sideswipe begged in almost perfect unison.

The stunt biker merely winked as he smiled enigmatically, keeping his attention focused on his welding. After a few more welds and some shake tests to ensure stability, the two jumped down and darted off to begin crafting the next leg of the course. Denny shook his head with a smile and calmly strode after them. Best someone keep an eye on them and make sure they didn't cause any trouble. He would've asked Fix-It or Windstorm to, but they were busy with something far more in the inventor's line than stasis pods or jury-rigged obstacle courses: the groundbridge they'd salvaged from Fracture's ship.

* * *

Windstorm was irked. And by irked he really meant intensely annoyed.

As an engineer who had helped construct the most advanced star-ships in the entire CERF, he wasn't one to back down from the occasional bump in the road. In such a field hitches happened every so often and you just had to work around them. And that was a good thing about working with ships and not actual mechs and femmes like Charity did. At least in his field the bumps were predictable. Ships obeyed a distinct set of malfunctions, and each had their own fixes.

Like if a power core was using less energy than it was supposed to he took a look at the feed cables to make sure there were no leaks. If the navigation and targeting systems were off point he took them down, fiddled with the wiring, re-calibrated the system and checked if that fixed the issue – if not, he kept at it until he got a result, good or bad, or until he hit a set of symptoms seen many times before with an easy fix. If the shielding was glitching or had been damaged by some cosmic phenomena he would look at the shielding matrix. If it had suffered physical damage it was a simple matter of replacing the damaged part. If it had suffered code command damage it was a little more difficult and perhaps more tedious – skimming through thousands upon thousands of lines of codes was no quick act, after all.

But a groundbridge was a little different than a star-ship. It wasn't as predictable. "Temperamental" was a good way to describe its personality right now. He and Fix-It had tried well over two dozen solutions to the problem but the groundbridge had refused to accept each and every one of them. It was infuriating to no end. He'd been within moments of kicking the stubborn conglomeration of metal, wishing he was working on a star-ship. Primus below, they weren't nearly as finicky.

And so the inventor was at present leaning against the mini-con's command center, frowning to himself and toying with a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle on the holo-screen with one digit. The smaller orange mech watched him attentively, privately amazed at how quickly he was assembling the puzzle. He looked almost bored with it.

Fix-It knew the young savant hadn't given up. Hardly. Sometimes a processor just needed to focus on something else for a while – something less stressful or demanding, giving it a chance to recharge. He had a sense that was what Windstorm was doing right now – just giving his mind a break. The humans even had a phrase to describe it: "sleep on it." It meant to give the brain some time off, let the problem roll over in your mind while you did something else. Oftentimes performing that task could result in the answer simply coming to you.

The engineer may not be focusing on the issue outwardly, but his subconscious was no doubt hard at work.

"Should we at least tell them we have it working – we just have some kinks to work out?" Windstorm wondered a bit abstractedly as he moved two pieces at once.

"I don't see why not." Fix-It answered, shrugging. "That we've got it working at all is a miracle in itself if you ask me. Kinks can always be hammered out later."

Windstorm let out a low-frequency rumble in reply, lightning-yellow optics still fixated on the puzzle. The noise was accepting sounding as a whole but there was a hint of frustration hidden deep within.

"If I'd bothered to bring my toolkit like Charity did I might be able to hammer out that kink..." He sighed. "Slag me for a fool, Fix-It. I honestly didn't think anything would come of that shadow when I first saw it outside my workshop, and now look where I am – one of the brightest minds on all of Cybertron I've been called, stuck on a planet light-years from home without access to my tools or my colleagues. I didn't think ahead. The one time in my life I should have."

Fix-It didn't say anything for a while, wracking his processor for something to get Windstorm out of his mental funk. Right when he was about to stay silent, a strange phrase from Earth flicked through his mind. It was something he'd heard Denny say a few times during their stay here, and he'd actually researched it later along with countless other proverbs.

"Windstorm, the humans have a saying: 'Curiosity killed the cat...' " He paused.

The engineer's hand paused mid-swipe. His helm jerked in his direction, optics swimming with confusion. That was an unusual phrase. He'd always been brought up to be curious, to ask questions about anything and everything. Moreover, Russell clearly had been too going by his somewhat rude question to Counterforce the first night. He hadn't mean it that way; he'd just been puzzled by the mech's contrasting optics, having never seen something like that before. Odd that such a naturally curious race would have a phrase like that.

Fix-It grinned, finishing the phrase as he held up a single clasp-like digit:

" 'But tenacity brought it back.' "

At that, the confusion evaporated. A fierce grin erupted on Windstorm's lip-plates. What looked very much like genuine lightning crackled in his optics. Right then, at that very moment in time, he truly looked like a mad scientist. Fix-It thus understood why he was one of Cybertron's brightest minds – he wasn't afraid to keep on failing if it meant he could keep on learning. Tenacity would indeed continue to bring this brilliant cat back from the brink for as long as his sharp mind kept working, so long as it was given incentive. And so long as it kept questioning everything there was to question. After all, you didn't learn anything by taking something at face value.

The little orange mech gladly accepted Windstorm's hand, didn't resist as he helped him down off the console.

"Come on, then! Let's give it another whirl! We've got to break through at some point, right? That 'bridge wants to be stubborn? I'll give it a taste of its own medicine!"

* * *

"...Are you certain this is safe?"

"Aw, c'mon Drift-y! Is this a face that would lie to you and let you get hurt?"

At the bounty hunter's side, Sideswipe nearly fell over from laughing so much. It wasn't even Backdraft's words that made him laugh – it was the lethally adorable, infinitely yet innocently manipulative, round-as-saucers, amber-hued puppy-dog optics that did the job. He was like an overgrown sparkling! And it was so slagging funny! How, how had he never managed to meet this nutter before now?

Bumblebee and Grimlock didn't resist a snicker either. Yet the yellow and black mech knew that the stunt biker was being honest. Drift hadn't been here during the battle with Vertebreak so he understandably didn't know how responsible Backdraft really was. Insane as he acted, when friends were involved he was as sane as anybody, perhaps saner. He wouldn't let the bounty hunter get hurt, especially due to something he helped with. He would take the blame if something happened – he and he alone.

"...And I should trust the mech who throws himself off buildings in his spare time...why?" Drift wondered pointedly.

Strongarm snorted. That was actually a pretty decent argument there.

"Um, I ran an analysis of the welds molecular structure. They seemed pretty solid to me." Zodiac offered shyly, peeking down from her perch atop a nearby shelf.

"But you are not an expert in this field, are you?"

"...Well, um, no. But the molecular bonds..."

"In fact, the only one who would know for certain if this series of contraptions is sturdy is Backdraft himself."

Again Backdraft laughed. He seemed oblivious to the rather mean-sparked implication Drift was directing at him: that the jovial stunt biker had purposely rigged the course to give Drift a hard time, or even hurt him. He literally didn't seem to give two darns. It appeared he found the suggestion laughable in itself.

Once more Bumblebee let himself be stunned at the bounty hunter's attitude. Yes, it had been revealed to him during the course of the day's construction bonanza (it was now three in the afternoon) that he was a follower of Amalgamous – but that didn't make him a criminal, much less a murderer. If anything, that little fact cemented his trustworthiness. Followers of the Shifter were playful, mischievous, prone to getting into trouble (and occasionally causing it), but it was of a harmless nature. They were _not_ dangerous in any way. And they definitely _weren't_ black-sparked liars.

"Drift-y, baby! Honestly! I checked the welds! They're good as a cube o' high grade on a hot evening! They could probably handle Grim givin' 'em a beat down!"

The bounty hunter still looked less than convinced, frowning and raising one brow ridge suspiciously. But his little partners standing at his heel struts didn't look nearly so uncertain. Their expressions indicated they trusted him. Jetstorm for one looked to be valiantly trying not to laugh at the other mech's peculiar, friendly wording. One tiny hand covered his mouth to hide what Bumblebee could only assume was the world's biggest smile. Slipstream, while more serious, had a certain twinkle in his optics that hinted he was just as entertained.

Eventually Backdraft showed a flash of amused annoyance. He cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. "Oh, come off it, mate! If you don't trust me, I'll go through first and check to make sure everythin's in order. Happy?"

Drift seemed noticeably appeased at that. All gathered were torn between snickering and giving Drift a piece of their processors. In the end, only Bumblebee and Smokescreen fell into the latter category. But their expressions soon lightened when they watched the stunt biker kneel down and tell something to the two mini-cons via private frequency. From the gleeful, anticipating looks on their faceplates he'd definitely said something to get them excited. Thus it was no surprise when Backdraft laughed and motioned for them to follow.

"You don't mind my borrowin' 'em for a klik or three, eh Drift-y?" he asked innocently.

Drift's frown returned by a fraction, but in the end he nodded. If he was staying for a while, he might as well let his partners work with the Altihexian in order to better understand what made him tick both on an off the battlefield.

"Ha! Thanks! Don't worry – I'll give 'em back in one piece!" he winked. "Just gonna teach 'em a little somethin', that's all!"

"Teaching while testing the course? Quite the multi-tasker, aren't you?" Smokescreen observed with a smile.

"Y'know what they say: two Avioids with one plasma shot!"

He instantly regretted his choice of words. Zodiac let out an irritated, insulted keen and flew at him, pecking and nipping at his helm in a blur of midnight blue.

"Whoa! Geez! Cool your circuits, 'Zee! Ow! It's just an old Golden Age saying! I'd never dream of shooting you! Hey! Ow! Would ya knock it off already?!"

Zodiac gave one last hissing sound and angry peck before zipping back to her perch on the shelf. Two royal blue orbs peered down at Backdraft like twin sniper scopes trained up for the killing shot. Smokescreen crossed his arms and asked her to apologize in the same manner of a disappointed Guardian. Her response was to stick her glossa out and retreat further towards the other side of the shelf, out of immediate sight. The blue and yellow mech thus apologized for her.

"You okay?" Counterforce wondered.

"I'm fine, goldie. She didn't actually bite me. Most she did was nip. Guess I accidentally hit a nerve. Uh, sorry!" he called to her.

"You sure you're okay?" Charity re-iterated. "I could check and make sure."

Backdraft laughed again: "Trust me, I'm fine! No need to worry your cute little helm, dove!"

Waving, he left towards the start of the course. Charity gave Grimlock a sideways look and the Dinobot understood in a flash. She was requesting he keep an optic on him and make sure he didn't accidentally hurt himself. Nodding almost imperceptibly, he plodded off in the direction the jovial, care-free Altihexian had gone. His audials picked up the sung notes of a bouncy song as he followed at a fair distance:

" _Why should I worry? Tell me! Why should I care? Say I may not have a dime – oh! – but I got street savoir fair!_ "

Grimlock didn't suppress a toothy grin. This mech really was insane – in all the good ways.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Ha-ha! A 5,000 word intermission chapter! Did you get a good giggle out of it? I decided to make a funnier chapter and let ya'll have a bit more of a glimpse into some characters as well. Plus, I like not rushing through episodes. A couple intermissions every now and again never hurt anyone, eh? :)**

 ***Also it's my head-canon that Sideswipe loves superhero movies. XD What? He just strikes me as the sort to like 'em!**


	22. Chapter 22: Under the Sea

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 22**

* * *

Grimlock followed the sound of the stunt biker's singing to find him going through the last legs of the course in a spectacular fashion, the mini-con's watching him like awe-struck sparklings. For a moment he stood there, blinking once or twice and not fully believing what his optics were seeing. But then a massive, toothy grin broke out on the snout of his beast form. A laugh escaped his vocalizer.

Because the jovial stunter wasn't just going through the course like a regular mech. Oh, no. This _was_ Backdraft giving the course a dry run, so it absolutely had to be a hundred times more amazing and absurd. He was pretty much giving them a show to watch: swinging from the pendulum obstacles one moment, then leaping from the last one to the top of a platform, then dropping down like a sky diver to dance his way to the finish line. The most incredible part was not his dance-like agility and perfect timing. Remarkable as that was, it was overshadowed by one spectacular thing: he was managing all of this while singing well enough to put a professional performer to shame. He didn't miss a single note.

When he did hit the finish line itself, he turned and gave a showman's bow to his suddenly expanded audience, grinning from audial to audial. Grimlock himself got a playful wink from him.

"Your agility is remarkable! Who taught you?" Slipstream wondered.

Backdraft gave the mini-con an almost bewildered look before laughing. When he managed to regain control, he said: "No one, short-stuff! Taught myself! You'd be surprised what the streets can teach ya if you're willin' to listen to 'em! You just gotta find the beat!" He danced a little to an invisible tune, this one slightly faster paced than the one he had been singing.

Grimlock was surprised at this. Was he saying he had been a Foundling for his youth – an orphan? He'd never had a Guardian? That was pretty interesting. 'Bee might wanna hear about that. Most Foundlings were typically taken in by adoptive mechs and femmes and yet Backdraft had never had a foster parent to teach him, protect him, or anything that a Guardian did. If not taken in they had an unfortunate habit of turning into little thieves and trouble makers, much like Slipstream and Jetstorm had mentioned they had been guilty of before Drift took them in. Cops even had a name for these Guardian-less Foundlings in cities: tunnel rats, named so because of their habit of making homes in the below ground tunnel systems that criss-crossed Cybertron.

He couldn't stop himself asking: "You aren't an ex tunnel rat, are you?"

The stunter snorted humorously, taking no offense at the question.

"Nah. I actually stayed at one of the Foundling homes in a kinda on and off way; mainly just stayed there to have a roof over my helm. I just liked bein' out an' about, learnin' the pattern of the streets, y'know? I just like...moving. Never really had a desire for a Guardian when I already had one in Altihex. I actually visit the place every now and again whenever I can." He smiled fondly. "The kiddos there love me to death. Always wanna hear stories of what I've done or what mischief I've been up to. Owner doesn't mind, but if I start tryin' to encourage 'em to follow the Shifter she boots me out on my can. And that's _before_ she thwacks me upside the helm and drags me by my heel strut to the door. Swear I still got a dent back there somewhere from the last one..."

When the stunter comically winced and massaged the back of his helm, all three laughed. They could imagine such a scene – the rambunctious, playful Altihexian being dragged by one heel strut through the building and to the door, the little ones following him the whole time while he continued to talk and laugh. Really, it seemed like he treated his whole life like one big game set up for his own enjoyment, and he never let anyone or anything spoil it for him. And the best part? He encouraged others to do the same. Life was fun! Enjoy it!

"So, the course is safe for use?" Jetstorm asked, getting them all back on topic.

Backdraft grinned. "You betcha! If I can make it through, they can too! So come on! Let's go get everyone ready and have 'em give it a run!"

Transforming, he roared off in a streak of crimson and flame, laughing like the world's biggest sparkling. Grimlock shook his helm and laughed again. Both mini-cons grinned and bolted after the biker, the burly Dinobot stomping along behind them.

* * *

They came on the others gathered around Fix-It's terminal like a swarm of moths. With their faces turned away from their approach, they could not see expressions right away. But the ignited fields showed glyphs for surprise in almost every case, with one exception in the case of Drift: hesitation. Primus, was that mech never willing to take a risk in anything? No wonder Fracture could fight him so well – he could think outside the box, was willing to take risks.

"Wait. You mean you guys got it working?" Bumblebee was demanding.

Fix-It seemed about to say "Yes" but hesitated, looking over to one side. Windstorm was busy tinkering on the input console for the groundbridge. There was a frown of what looked like determination, but the grim spark in his optics showed mounting annoyance. Grimlock and Sideswipe had to resist a snort when the engineer finally grew fed up with whatever he was doing and wonked his helm against the console, kicking the thing a klik later. Windstorm trudged over, engine growling as he muttered some choice descriptions for the salvaged portal. The little orange mini-con looked less than thrilled at that reaction.

"Ah...technically, yes." Fix-It answered slowly.

" _Technically_ yes?" Strongarm repeated. "That's not a definite yes, Fix-It. Does it work or not?"

"There a problem with it or something, guys?" Smokescreen asked, optics glancing at the frustrated Windstorm and then back at the hesitant expression of Fix-It.

Windstorm shot a murderous look at the groundbridge before answering:

"The portal opens and closes just fine. No instability in the magnetic containment field. Frame is solid. No, the issue is the damned coordinate input and navigation subroutines. Blasted piece of scrap metal can't seem to lock onto a target we input, apparently thinking it knows better than we do and plonks the portal someplace else, ranging anywhere from fifty or so miles away to hundreds of miles away. You choose Arizona's Grand Canyon, it plonks you in Ojai, California. You pick the Arctic Circle and there's a chance it'll drop you in the Amazon river basin of all places. That-that _thing_ is _precisely_ the reason I work with star-ships. They're not such conceited little...little – ! I'm not even going to _say_ what it is!"

He was practically fuming by this point. Counterforce laid a hand on the engineer's shoulder. Almost instantly his anger and frustration simmered down to a low broil rather than a raging blaze.

"You say there's _chance_ of this happening, right? _Not_ a guarantee?" he asked, optics flicking between the two.

"Well, yes. But..." Fix-It was about to say " _There's still a pretty significant chance_ ," but the Praxian cut him off with a short wave of his hand.

"But nothing. There's always a risk no matter what we do here. It's not your fault Fracture's groundbridge has an attitude. So long as it works, we'll use it. But if you want a little more time to hammer out that kink before we give it a real field test, I don't think that's really an issue. Do you, lieutenant?" he asked, deferring to the yellow and black mech at his side.

"Nah. No problem." Bumblebee assured. "Lots of wilderness out here. Plenty of places for 'Cons to hide. Sentenza _says_ they may have spread out to huge distances by now since she didn't find any out there in the mountains, but I think Nightstrike, Quillfire, Clampdown, and Vertebreak are proof some may be sticking around the area. If one 'Con can hide in the woods and three in a highly urbanized city...why not more? Scrap, _Hammerstrike_ was hiding under the bay. There might be more down there or in the oceans. Plenty of room to hide down there."

Windstorm and Fix-It seemed content at that. They then finally took notice of Backdraft, Grimlock, and Drift's mini-cons lingering in the back. Bumblebee and Smokescreen performed twin double-takes on following their gazes, prompting everyone else to turn. Geez. Every time either of them saw the biker out of the corner of their optics they instinctively thought a fire had broken out thanks to his colors. He just wasn't subtle at all – probably the most _un_ -subtle mech they'd met in their lives next to Knockout. And the flame decals didn't help that in the least.

"Oh! there you guys are. I'm guessing since none of you are hurt that means the course is ready to use?" Charity wondered.

"Yep! Ready an' waitin'!" Backdraft grinned. "C'mon, sparky! Run off some o' that steam, why don't ya? Hey! _You_ could be one of the obstacles! Those hurricanes would be beastly!"

The engineer gave him a look that told him he was above that, but then his optics rolled and he sighed. A thin smile formed.

"I don't suppose why not. High wind speeds could vaguely mimic the slower movement in watery environments. If there _are_ other convicts hiding in the oceans (and probability says there might very well be), best have some experience with that. That blasted 'bridge can wait for later. I rather doubt we'll ever get that kink worked out. I think it might be some sort of virus within the coding Fracture left as a fail-safe. Odd if so – I never found any traces of a virus in the system." He shrugged. "Or it might just be the universe's way of telling me I can't fix everything...Could've chosen a better – Wah! Hey!"

The cry came because Backdraft, with help from Sideswipe, grabbed the engineer and practically dragged him into the depths of the course, leaving the others to follow them.

"And you just...let them get away with this sort of behavior?" Drift asked as they started off.

In unison Smokescreen, Bumblebee, and Counterforce shrugged.

"Drift, you kinda just learn to roll with it after a while." Bumblebee admitted humorously.

* * *

Windstorm was typically above playing the part of an obstacle in a course...but he had to admit it was pretty entertaining once things got going. Hiding behind a shelf towards the end littered with durable, heavy antiques, he waited for the others to reach him. He was rather surprised to hear a rush of air down the isle followed by the heavy metallic wing beats of a familiar Avioid. Looking up, he spotted Zodiac perched atop the shelf looking down at him with her helm to one side. Unconsciously he mirrored the look.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the start line?"

The Avioid flapped her wings as if in humorous annoyance. His comm. link then crackled to life:

[Apparently I'm not a fair person to be racing against. Speed-gifted and all. Heh. Not that I need an agility test anyway. If there's one thing I'm good at aside from being a space-geek, it's moving around at high speeds in tight places. Smoke made sure to hone that. 'Cause trust me when I say moving around in tight places at just under the speed of sound is a lot harder than it seems.]

He smiled. "Oh, no. I can believe that. Once you get an object moving that fast it's bloody hard to slow it down, especially on a dime. Your small size helps with that. You don't have as much mass, meaning it takes less time and effort to reduce velocity because you have less momentum to deal with. That's how you managed to outpace Vertebreak in the subway: lighter the object, the easier it is to stop, allowing you turn far faster and on shorter notice. Like with the tank earlier – _heavier_ the object, the more momentum it has, so it takes longer to slow down. It's all in the timing I assume?"

She winked. [Yep. Now shh! I think I hear them coming! You're supposed to be an obstacle, Sir-Talks-a-Lot.]

Knowing better than to speak aloud, he asked back over the channel: [But what are you going to be doing? You can't really be an obstacle, can you?]

He watched her transform and lean over the edge of the top shelf. [Oh no. I'm just gonna sit up here and watch 'em fail hilariously. Backdraft didn't craft this thing to be easy, you know. It's not about who gets finished first – it's about who makes it there _without getting hit_. Involving your hurricanes is just the icing on the cake. What's the wind speed on those things anyway? Hurricanes come in five categories based on wind speed.]

He thought for a moment, converting the speed to a terrestrial one to match her question. [Mmm...six hundred and eight knots give or take. More if I re-route additional power.]

Her jaw dropped. [Dude, you ever hear of the word 'overkill?' You're packing a transonic wind tunnel on each arm! You _wanna_ go flinging 'em into the next state or something?]

They fell silent as the sound of tiny, rapid footfalls met their audials. From around a bend came Slipstream and Jetstorm, proud little grins on their faceplates on looking back and noting they were in the lead. Windstorm felt rather bad he had to wipe those grins into submission, but he was an obstacle. Obstacles couldn't have a bias to adorability factor. And so he stepped out of hiding and stood fast, a fair whir sounding from his hurricanes that steadily escalated into a roar. The mini-cons skidded to a near stop, expressions wary.

"Sorry guys." he apologized.

With that, he aimed the hurricanes at them...and let rip. Slipstream and Jetstorm did not anticipate the sudden rush of winds, and valiantly try as they might they simply couldn't stop themselves from being blown over and flung to the sides of the course like rag dolls. But powerful as the gust had been, it wasn't nearly strong enough to cause damage to them. A cursory glance confirmed they sported only a few minor dings in their armor. They'd be fine. He hadn't gone full out with them – about one hundred seventy three knots; merely strong enough winds to mimic those of a powerful storm. Normal winds speeds on Earth didn't get much higher than two hundred and twenty knots according to his research. Any higher than that and it required artificial sources.

He paused as he detected more incoming targets. All of these were much heavier, though the pattern of a few of them hinted at agility and grace. He had a pretty good feeling who was coming around the bend next. As if in answer to his hypothesis, Frostbite, Sideswipe, Bumblebee, and Backdraft surged through the course towards him, Drift following close behind them. Each of the participants spotted him almost at the same time. Sideswipe and Backdraft tried to dart around, but Windstorm held his ground, generating a concentrated funnel of air that pushed them back. Smokescreen and Bumblebee tried a similar tactic, attempting to skirt around the funnel, but like their friends they were pushed back. And so the four stood there, puzzled as to how they were supposed to get by the wall of wind.

Some childish impulse of Windstorm's made him smile a bit cheekily. They weren't really going to forfeit, were they? There _was_ a way around him if they just used their processors. Not all obstacles required brute force.

Drift showed the most common sense – hunching over and crossing his arms in front of him like a boxer blocking a blow. Frostbite did something similar – helm down to the ground, he used his powerful body strength to push through the winds, claws digging into the thick soil like spikes on a mountaineer's boots. Slowly but surely he inched their way out of the danger zone and, once free, took off sprinting, the Canipid easily outpacing the bounty hunter. Now having an example to go on, Sideswipe, Backdraft, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen made their way through.

A few kliks later and Strongarm and Counterforce came running in. Like Drift, each thought the problem over logically before attempting it. And, gentlemech that he was, Counterforce helped Strongarm forge through by taking point. Personally Windstorm thought it would've worked better if Strongarm had been in front due to her heavier build, but he couldn't fault the Praxian's effort. His kind was pretty well known to hold femmes in very high respect.

He shut the hurricanes down to a low whir when no one else came right away. A little odd that.

"Huh. They aren't doing as bad as I thought they would." Zodiac commented. She tallied off those who had made it through on her digits. "Hm. That leaves only Grimlock and...Sentenza."

Almost as soon as she said that, Sentenza's pitch black form sprinted around the corner far faster than the others had. Windstorm barely had time to power his hurricanes back up before she retracted her scythe, pole only he noted curiously. Extending it to its maximum length she drove one end of it against the ground, the Seeker used it to nimbly vault over him like a gymnast. She landed with a feline grace, wings flicking at in amusement. She flung a playful warning at him as she darted onwards:

"Never let your guard down, sucker!"

Zodiac fell over and cracked up laughing at Windstorm's stunned, insulted expression.

"She played you! Oh my gosh! She freaking _played you_! Like. A. _Boss_! And you fell for it! Hahaha! Primus, I'm dying here!"

Her laughter abruptly cut off when her sensitive audials detected a significantly loud _CLANG_! Windstorm looked up at her curiously, watching as she quickly flipped upright, royal blue optics staring at a point further towards the middle of the course. Her helm tilted to the side. Then, before he could so much as think how to word his question as to what she thought was the matter, she zipped off in a flash.

Without hesitation, Windstorm thus abandoned his post. Something about her sudden movements gave him a bad feeling, especially considering Grimlock was the only one to have never appeared at his point in the course. Had he encountered a problem? There was no way he believed the Dinobot was this slow – a bit ungainly perhaps, but not slow. He'd kept up a remarkable pace in the subways.

* * *

"I'm fine, I'm tellin' ya! Just a minor ding!" Grimlock protested.

He tried to shoo the curious Avioid and concerned medic away, only succeeding with the former. He should've known that Charity wouldn't be likely to back down from a possibly injured patient. And not even possibly injured; he was hurt. He'd heard back on Cybertron that some medics could just _tell_ if someone was hurt. They didn't need to see a wound or dislocated shoulder joint – they just _knew_. Like an instinct or a sixth sense. Charity obviously seemed to have it.

Of course, he felt bad for not telling the whole truth to her. He was lying through his fangs to her in order to keep up his "unstoppable" reputation. They needed him at his A-game at all times, like 'Bee and Sideswipe had hinted. With Underbite on the loose he was the only one who stood a chance against him in the strength department. Frostbite was a close second. According to Bumblebee, an Earth wolf's bite force was a whopping twelve hundred pounds. Turn said wolf into a Predacon and that number skyrocketed to a crushing two tons. If he wanted to bite a limb clean off or snap a mini-con in half, he probably could...but Frostbite didn't know Underbite like he did. The Chompozoid could easily overpower both of them if he had enough metal around him to absorb.

"Grim, let her have a look. Honestly, it's her slagging _job_ for crying out loud. It's why she's here." Smokescreen argued, arms crossed over his chestplates.

"Would all of you stop fussing already?" snapped the Dinobot tersely. "I'm okay! Gimme a bit and I'll be fine! I've taken worse hits from Underbite! I'm good! Just a little ding and some soreness! It'll go away after a while!"

Charity seemed to understand that Grimlock didn't want any help, so she finally stood down. That didn't stop her from eyeing him with gentle suspicion. She'd worked with Predacons before (though never Dinobots) but it seemed to be a universal constant with beast-formers that nine times out of ten they were too stubborn to admit to their wounds. She'd tended to one particularly large Chimeran once whose port wing had practically fallen off at the joint (much to her and her superior's horror) after being swarmed by scraplets, and yet he'd refused medical care for upwards of a whole lunar cycle before being pushed to go.

"Alright. Fine." she said. "Just try to keep your weight off it for a while. But if you start having problems with it, you come see me right away. The last thing we want that to be is an internal mechanism having gotten dislodged. Those can be a real pain to deal with and treat if you don't get them fixed quickly."

Satisfied the harping was coming to an end, Grimlock nodded and rose to his clawed pedes. He did his best to keep the weight off his right side. It hurt a little, but it dulled a bit after a few kilks to a faded ache in his upper hip and side. He'd had worse pain after a throwdown with Underbite. He could manage this until his nanites repaired the damage, even if there was a fight.

* * *

Grimlock wandered to the edge of the salvage yard, limping every so often to keep weight off his hip. It was a little worrying that it hadn't corrected yet, but he paid it no mind. They didn't have access to a lot of Energon here, and they were all on rations. Nanites worked slower when low on energy.

He'd picked up a scent while running the course, and it was one he found familiar. He'd smelled it once before in an old hangar near the edges of the city, and more recently after Charity's encounter while they'd been busy in the subways. But this time around it didn't make him growl or wish for skull-cracking. This time it got him curious, and so he followed it. Oddly enough, it led outside the walls where he'd found Sentenza that morning. Weird.

The Dinobot hefted himself over with some effort, continuing on the trail. It led past Sentenza's twilight shelter (Russell had actually named it) and around to the east wall. Waiting there beside an old oak tree was a pile of gleaming scrap ranging from wires to washer nuts and anything in between. Atop it was a small, square piece of metal, and the light was bouncing off certain parts of it in a weird way. Confused, Grimlock stomped closer. When he got close enough to loom over it, he was surprised to see some very neat, legible cyberglyphs carved into the metal that was almost on par with calligraphy, contrasting with the simple words it spelled out:

 _Just thought the copper could use this. Guys looked like you were low when I stopped to grab me mates._

 _~Chop Shop_

Grimlock grinned. Windstorm and Fix-It would have a field day with this. Turning, he headed for the gates, ignoring the steadily growing ache in his side.

* * *

"Uh, lieutenant – er, lieutenants?" Fix-It prompted a bit hesitantly.

Smokescreen and Bumblebee turned to him in unison from their conversation with Charity and Drift. They were concerned about Grimlock, and well – sometimes you had to fight stubborn with a bigger dose of stubborn. Drift was one of the most stubborn mechs they'd met. If it came to it, he'd have the bounty hunter and his slowly budding Canipid friend drag the Dinobot in for an exam. At their pedes, Russell seemed to lean towards this line of action while Denny remained undecided.

"...Bumblebee, you know how you mentioned Hammerstrike hiding under the bay earlier?"

The yellow and black mech blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

Instead of replying, Fix-It brought up a three-dimensional globe of Earth that he expanded to a larger size. Windstorm had rigged it together over a few solar cycles in between tinkering with the pods and messing with the Decepticon hunters. The hologram spun slowly until it came to a near stop, pausing over the Atlantic Ocean, in the Caribbean no less, near the island nation of Puerto Rico. Just north of the island was a faint signal, but it wasn't displaying the Decepticon crest. It was just a faint, flickering red dot. But it was definitely Cybertronian. That much the Alchemor's sensors seemed to be sure of.

Bumblebee pointed out something he found as bizarre and worrisome in a surprised tone:

"Is that...? Is that signal coming from the _Milwaukee Deep_? What...? How...? What's a Cybertronian beacon doing all the way down there?" he demanded.

"That's not the peculiar part." said Fix-It slowly. "The Alchemor's alpha test – beta test – _manifest_ is not registering it as one of the prisoners. The signal is also incredibly ancient, dating to around the late Golden Age. Something in the – Milwaukee Deep, was it? – seems to have activated it after millenia of lying dormant. I haven't the faintest idea as to what triggered it though. Quake perhaps? Or something else?"

"That might explain why the Alchemor can't identify it as Autobot or Decepticon." Drift mused. "The factions we know today did not exist then. That still does not explain its presence there. I don't believe this planet was known about then."

"Buddy, we could argue that like there's no tomorrow." Smokescreen deadpanned. "'Bee and the rest of the team found a data cylinder buried here that had a formula for some sort of synthetic Energon. Turned out it was really a formula for cyber-matter. So yeah. I'm thinkin' they knew about Earth because they started stashing their goods here for safe-keeping."

"Safe-keeping from what though – or who?" Strongarm asked. "Like Drift said, Autobot and Decepticon factions didn't exist during the Golden Age. So why hide such an important item light-years from Cybertron on a backwater planet? I'll never believe it was hidden from the Senate. They were probably the ones to commission the chemists to make it. Do you think that's happened here? Is this beacon pointing to another one of these hidden, pre-War items?"

"Anything's possible." Zodiac admitted, shrugging her tiny shoulders.

Grimlock stepped in then, interjecting as he forgot entirely for the moment to mention the present Chop Shop had left them: "I say we stop guessin' why its down there and who put it down there and go check it out. Somethin' caused it to turn on after all this time, right? Why don't we go see what hit the 'On' switch for ourselves?"

Fix-It gave a short, nervous laugh. He explained that the signal was _five miles_ below the ocean's surface and off the southeastern coast of the country. That would require groundbridging down to it, as they would take solar cycles to drive there. And 'bridging was a huge risk considering how temperamental Fracture's salvaged 'bridge was right now. They could wind up in the middle of San Juan, Puerto Rico's capital. And then there went their being here in disguise.

"Uh, not to be the ultimate kill joy here or anything, but wouldn't opening up one of your wormholes turn my property into a lake?" Denny asked tersely. "I'm fine with you guys jury-rigging things out of my stuff because it can always be disassembled in the end, but flooding's going a tad too far."

Windstorm assured him that there was a very minimal chance of that happening. While the navigation subroutines were being temperamental, the magnetic containment field was sturdy. Frankly he'd been more concerned with that than any other system involved. If the field destabilized the wormhole would collapse violently into a black hole – as Fix-It had mentioned had happened before now with Thunderhoof's attempt at building a spacebridge. But so long as the field functioned properly it should keep anything from the opposite end of the vortex from getting through.

Denny was not exactly encouraged that the engineer put a little too much emphasis on the word "should."

"Guess there's only one way to find out." Sideswipe said, shrugging.

"Fire it up." Bumblebee ordered.

Fix-It nodded and activated the groundbridge from his command center while Windstorm darted over to the navigation input and typed in the coordinates of the trench. The vortex roared to life obediently, and the magnetic containment field seemed to hold. But the engineer wasn't taking any chances, actively correcting the field when it varied even by a hundredth of percent. Finally though it appeared to get the message and stayed within a small, acceptable range. He stepped away, eyeing the portal warily.

"Alright. Field's stable. Navigation _says_ we're cued for the Milwaukee Deep, but there's a chance we might end up elsewhere."

"Then let's go before the damn thing changes its mind." Sentenza said impatiently. "Who's going on this one? Say I."

She, Bumblebee's original roster, Counterforce, Windstorm, Backdraft, and Drift and his mini-cons all said "I." Frostbite remained silent. Everyone was surprised when Charity's voice chimed in after a few kliks, and slightly more surprised to see Zodiac nervously fidgeting on Smokescreen's shoulder armor. Her anxiety had seemed to be slowly lessening over the past week or so, so to see it come back now was a little strange to some present. What was she scared of exactly?

"Uh, yeah. 'Zee doesn't like water. She's not exactly built to swim, and she's designed for low pressure environments like high altitudes and zero g – you know, places where there's not enough g's to make a mini-sub fold like origami? Going down five miles underwater and having that much gravity on her...that might crush her into a feathered pancake." Smokescreen enlightened them gravely.

Bumblebee nodded. "I won't force her to go, Smoke. I made her a promise: she doesn't have to fight or go on missions if she doesn't want to. Here, she might die if goes along with us, so if she came I'd be guilty of willful endangerment and/or murder. She can stay here and keep an optic on Charity and Fix-It. And Denny and Russell. What about you though? Are you going or staying?"

"I'll stay with Frostbite and help out here, but if any of you hit trouble I'll have Fix-It lock onto your signals and 'bridge me down. Primus willing we'll go two for two in successful 'bridging and _not_ end up in the Arctic or something."

"Okay."

In groups of two the aliens headed into the swirling portal. As soon as they were through, it snapped shut. Smokescreen was relieved to hear the mini-con in the command center report that they had successfully arrived in the trench. But he was still worried. And very, very confused. So was Zodiac judging by the questions bombarding his processor like a meteor shower.

What was a Golden Age beacon doing at the bottom of the Milwaukee Deep? Why had it only now switched on, and who or what had activated it? Was it purposeful or accidental? Who had it belonged to? And more importantly: what would they find down there in the depths?


	23. Chapter 23: In Too Deep Part 1

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 23**

* _I'm having a little fun here with one of JazztheTiger's ideas over on DA. This is no random plot twist. I've indirectly hinted at it already in a certain somebody's aquatic appearance._

 _*A spoiler is that wing thing you see on the back of sports cars._

* * *

When they passed through the groundbridge, the light levels dropped drastically almost in an instant. Bright sunlight was replaced with clear, watery darkness. It took a few moments for their optics to calibrate to the gloom. At the edges of their lines of sight were huge rocky protrusions jutting up from the seabed like mountains or canyons walls. There was no movement in the depths for as far as they could see – which wasn't much more than a mile or so at the time being.

"Headlights, guys." Bumblebee advised. "We're gonna need 'em down here. Night vision won't do much to pierce the dark, and infrared won't be useful down here unless a whale or something goes by. Or a military sub. Oh, _please_ don't let there be a military sub be down here..." he muttered.

They obeyed, and the clear gloom was suddenly flooded with bright lights. Revealed was a rather stark landscape devoid of anything but grey, sand-like material underpede and stones dotting the seabed. Some of these "stones" however were bleached white and did not resemble stones at all in shape. Charity did her best not to shiver at the sight. This trench was a massive graveyard, skeletons of dead animals scattered like ghastly flower petals or leaves on the grey sand.

"Windstorm? You got the beacon on scanners?"

The engineer brought up a holo-map of the seabed. Blinking away on it was the red dot that foretold where the beacon was, and it wasn't as faint as it had been earlier. No longer did it flicker uncertainly. Now it was steady, the signal more powerful. Windstorm nodded at the promising sight. Getting in closer proximity to it had resulted in the signal growing stronger, easier to detect by scanners. Now he could analyze what it really was as they went. Golden Age beacons often were encoded with messages – but many of those messages degraded over time to mere static. Perhaps luck would be with them and the data would be salvageable.

"Where is it exactly?" Drift asked.

"About a klik due north from our current position." he answered. "The consistency of the debris beneath us should permit for driving, but low velocity would be best; we might obscure our vision otherwise. But I would not advise the detective to fly in these conditions. Her vehicle form is not designed to be underwater or under great atmospheric pressure, and visibility down here isn't exactly the best. Problems might arise."

Briefly he glanced at Sentenza. Drift had the feeling those "problems" Windstorm had mentioned didn't just extend to low visibility or unsuitability to the terrain. There was another danger they weren't informing him of.

"I'll walk with her." Counterforce offered. "Everyone else go on ahead with 'Bee."

"You sure?" wondered the yellow and black mech a little worriedly. "We could drive with you. Getting separated down here is probably a bad idea. And...well...I mean...it-it _is_ dark down here..." he admitted hesitantly.

He saw Sentenza's Predacon yellow optics flash blood red out of sudden aggression, only for her to flinch back from him as they rapidly flipped back. That was a bad sign. Maybe he should've insisted she stay behind, because being this much closer to the core – to Unicron – and surrounded by darkness was a disaster waiting to happen. Very little sunlight was reaching her down here, and thus her control over her dark half, even in what was technically broad daylight, was dangerously weakened. Hopefully Counterforce's presence and light talent could abate that for the duration of the mission. It was a bit of a long shot, but maybe Sideswipe could help as well. He was well aware of the red mech's desire to befriend her. From what he'd seen so far and first hand, so long as she had a support system and a light source, she seemed to be able to wrest back control on her own.

But his fears faded somewhat when, in response to the comment, Counterforce brought out his scimitar, its golden glow adding to the glare from their headlights but somehow softer, more relaxing. The dark Seeker femme visibly appeared to calm. She drew a little closer to him, one wing just barely brushing him. No one aside from Grimlock and Strongarm noticed the Praxian link a partially hidden hand with hers, fingers intertwining.

"I'll stick with you guys. Just, 'cause, y'know – safer in numbers and all. " Sideswipe added, a light, almost undetectable stammer betraying he was still awkward around her. He wanted to befriend her, but he also didn't want to seem like he was coming onto her in the process. She'd already made her decision who she wanted, and she'd seemed to have made that decision a long time ago: Counterforce.

Thing was, she _needed_ the Praxian, needed him in a way he couldn't even begin to understand. And not just for his light talent either. There was something way more complicated and emotional going on with them.

Sentenza seemed to appreciate the kind offer and let one wing brush him as well. To his badly concealed surprise the Seeker even put a hand on his shoulder, permitting a small smile to ghost in and out. She knew the kid was trying his hardest to get on her good side and befriend her. He was reaching out his hand – frack, he'd been doing that since she'd first gotten here. He'd followed her that first night, intrigued by her dark attitude, attractive frame design, and the cuffs clamped over her hands. He'd been a little wary, but not...not _afraid_. He'd been more confused and fascinated than anything. Maybe...maybe it was time for her to reach out in return.

"Thank you, Sideswipe. I'd...I'd feel better having more than one person around me down here. As a precaution."

She saw Drift eye her curiously, but a look and simple "no" gesture of the hand from Counterforce convinced him not to say anything. Answers would come in due time. But first he had to prove he was trustworthy.

Sideswipe rubbed his neck cables awkwardly, but she could tell he was pleased. "Heh. Erm, y-you're welcome."

"I could walk with you as well." Charity offered in that pleasant, kindly manner of hers.

The Seeker femme shook her helm.

"No, it's alright. Two chaperons is good, Charity. Much as I like hearing you play, I think we need you more as a medic right now. Besides, I'm not sure how well you'd sound down here in the water. Sound waves always act a little funny in liquid mediums."

Charity bowed her helm and transformed. Much as she wanted to argue that per photoharp would sound the same underwater as it did above air, it seemed Sentenza didn't want to appear too dependent on her. Drift might begin to get overly inquisitive about why she needed her, and then questions would arise – questions no one present could answer truthfully until the bounty hunter was a trusted ally rather than a mere acquaintance.

Bumblebee, sensing a decision had been made by the two parties, revved his engine and started off, leaving everyone except the little trio of walkers to drive after him through the murk. But the trio noticed that the forward group didn't leave them behind entirely, instead staying a few dozen yards ahead of them as a kind of wheeled advance force of sorts. They seemed to be adhering to Windstorm's advice of not separating.

[Is everybody's comm's working?] Strongarm wondered over the common frequency rather suddenly.

Each Autobot chimed in without issue.

"Okay. Good. Just checking."

"Nice call, cadet." Bumblebee complimented. "Actually, everyone – see if you can check in with Fix-It, too. Inter-personal comm's might work down here since we're like ten feet away from each other, but I'm a little concerned that at this depth there might be some patchiness with the surface."

* * *

At his command console, Fix-It was busy analyzing the strange beacon when the comm. channel with the away team was practically bombarded with data chatter. The little mini-con nearly flailed at the sudden influx. For a klik he thought something was wrong, but a quick check of the messages contents revealed nothing more than geographic positions of each Autobot in the trench. They seemed to be merely testing their comm. links to ensure communication with the surface.

[Fix-It? You get everyone's pings?] Counterforce asked. There was a faint static in the background that, while not loud, did interfere marginally with his incoming voice, making it sound slightly fainter than it really was.

"I did indeed. It would seem communications are working without issue. There _is_ a bit of static in the background, but I assume that's just background noise from the ocean and not anyone trying to jam this frequency. Far too faint to be the latter anyway, and the wavelength and frequency don't match the kind belonging to signal jammers."

[Alright. Good.] answered Bumblebee. [We'll check in with you once we get optics on the beacon. Get 'Zee to help you analyze the beacon if you can. Smoke told me she's actually pretty good at that kind of stuff.]

The comm. channel thus went silent again. Zodiac herself must've been eavesdropping on the channel because she zipped over to him an instant from her position elsewhere in the salvage yard. Without a word she copied the mini-con's file to a tiny data pad she whipped out of a subspace pocket in the chest of her hawk form. Fix-It had to resist a smile when she forewent transforming and pecked and tapped at the screen with her beak and talons, royal blue optics completely focused. But from the way her talons were trembling ever so slightly he knew she was nervous. Was this how she'd been during their search for Nightstrike – in a strange state of nervous focus?

Smokescreen poked his helm from around the side of the command center for a moment as if asking her whether she wanted him to stay. A subtle flick of her wing in return seemed to say that he could hover if he wanted to; she wouldn't mind. The mini-con watched the larger mech lay a hand on the metal hawk's back, watched as the trembling stopped – or at the very least, became less acute.

"Calm down, 'Zee. It's just a beacon." he murmured. "It's not like there's a Leviacon or anything down there. There's no Leviacon on the roster. Just try and figure out who or what put that thing down there. You've analyzed frequencies from stars before. I don't really see how this is different."

A soft noise escaped the Avioid's vocalizer and she gently shook herself as if to shake off her fears. Smokescreen's hand was thus removed. But he didn't leave. He simply went back to his friendly hovering, watching her as she worked. Then her talon paused just as it was about to type in another algorithm. Something in her body language shifted. Fear was replaced by boundless confusion. Smokescreen wasn't the only one to notice.

"What?" Fix-It prompted.

* _That's weird..._ * Zodiac said slowly over short-band.

"What is?"

* _I think I've seen this before on the Bolt_ – _well, I've never seen it myself but I've heard some other crews chatter about something kinda similar to_ _this.*_

"Well, what is it?" Smokescreen pressed.

* _It looks a little like the frequency and wavelength emitted by red giants or red super-giants, but...I don't get it. See the peaks? Something's up with the frequency. It doesn't match up with the other examples of giants I've seen on missions. There's...the wavelength's a little on the wonky side. There's a pattern in the wavelength and frequency but I don't know_ _–_ _I know I've heard about something like this before, I just can't remember where exactly. Or why it's giving me such a bad feeling..._ *

* * *

Beneath the waves, Windstorm continued with his own analysis of the signal as the forward group continued along the seafloor.

Frankly, he was just as puzzled as Zodiac, having identified it at nearly the same moment as she had. And just like her, he had no idea why anyone from the Golden Age would program a beacon to mimic the dying song of a star. Either the programmer was eccentric to the nth degree or there was something he was missing – a message for the beacon's finder perhaps, or...maybe a warning?

' _But...warning about what exactly?_ ' he wondered privately.

Was there something down here the beacon was warning against? But what could be down here other than the sand and bones that were strewn about? Only harmless invertebrates like hag fish could survive under such incredible atmospheric pressure. If there was a possible Cybertronian artifact in the trench, why then was it all the way down here – was it to keep it hidden? Or had it come down here by some other means? He was so lost in his thoughts that he was not paying attention to what lay in front of him: a nine-and-a-half-foot-wide crevice in the seafloor. He heard more than one 'bot shout a warning to him, felt a rush in the water as someone else transformed in a hurry, stirring up a swirl of fine silt, and felt that same individual try to grab hold of the low spoiler on his rear end. But in the end, neither party reacted fast enough.

Before Windstorm had fully jolted out of his musings he felt himself tumbling bumper over fender into the crevice, his altimeter going wild: ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet, then forty. In a panic he transformed, hands frantically scrambling at the stony walls for purpose. Right when it registered as fifty feet down he managed to find a protruding rock shelf to grab onto, thus halting his descent. His pedes were not so fortunate, unable as they were to find a placeholder. He looked down and suffered a case of vertigo at the sight of the dark abyss he was above. He'd never really liked heights. What was that old Earth saying – "stuck between a rock and a hard place?" The mech snorted to himself. That was an understatement.

He looked up to see numerous sets of optics looking down at him in frantic panic – baby blue, amber, red, gold and silver, and jade. To his consternation, one set of baby blue optics looked entertained at his predicament, and they belonged to an impatient, impertinent red Lamborghini. The red mech went went so far as to tease him aloud.

"And Strongarm accuses me of not watching where I'm go-OW!"

Sideswipe was cut off when Backdraft hissed at him and elbowed him hard in the arm. What looked like burning fire flickered in his amber optics – a fire that might explode outward if given more of a reason. Bumblebee, Strongarm, and Drift appeared even less pleased with him. For the first time the engineer or anyone had seen, Counterforce's faceplates bore a deep scowl more befitting of someone like Ultra Magnus. It was some small consolation to Windstorm that the red mech would definitely be given a stern talking-to upon their return to dry land.

"You okay, sparky?!" Grimlock demanded. What the Pit had made him lose his focus on the terrain ahead of him? He knew the mech was more of a thinker than a fighter, but he wasn't clumsy or anything either. And he wasn't the type to get his helm stuck in the clouds. Creative – sure. Little bit on the crazy side sometimes? Definitely. But absent-minded to the point of being completely oblivious? Far from it. During the times he'd helped him with the heavy lifting part of the pod repairs, he'd struck him as a very grounded mech, and very observational to boot. Nothing escaped him.

"Oh, just _peachy_!" Windstorm growled, nearly snapping. "I'm dangling from a ledge fifty feet down in a crevice at the bottom of a five mile deep trench, barely hanging on mind you; I have no idea how long this ledge will hold me or how far down this thing goes, and Sideswipe has the gall to _joke_ about my situation! Anyone happen to have an extension cable or tow line on them? I-I don't think this ledge is designed to hold this much weight..."

"I've got one!" Strongarm called down to him.

Even as she said that, the ledge cracked and began to give. The engineer yelped as fear gripped his spark. He knew putting any more pressure on the shelf would cause it to collapse, but at the same time if he didn't he'd lose his grip. His pedes scrambled without purpose beneath him, knocking down more stony shards into the crevice and kicking up a minor dust storm. While a fall wouldn't be lethal, the density of a Cybertronian's body prevented buoyancy. If he fell, there was a very slim chance of him making it back out. They could groundbridge him out, but that was risky without him being there to man the controls.

"Slipstream, Jetstorm! Quickly!" barked Drift.

The bounty hunter extended his arms and deployed his mini-cons. Their disk-like alternative modes hurtled around in arcs like thrown boomerangs, angling down into the crevice and then lodging themselves into the stony walls below the increasingly panicked engineer. Drift watched as Windstorm gingerly put his pedes down on the artificial ledges, plainly a little hesitant to put too much weight on the mini-cons. Both Jetstorm and Slipstream assured him he was not heavy enough to cause significant strain, thus encouraging him. They were built sturdy. Drift observed some of the panic begin to die down. Always, always one had to remain calm in a dangerous situation like this. Panicking would only lead to further complications.

"Cadet, your tow cable!" Bumblebee said sharply. "Hurry!"

Strongarm readied to drop the end of the tow cable down into the crevice like a rock climbing harness. But just as she threw it down, something horrific happened:

 _KKRRRACK!_

The ledge that Windstorm was using as a handhold at last cracked apart like an eggshell. Losing his balance, the engineer tumbled into the depths with a shout alongside Jetstorm and Slipstream. Soon his lightning yellow optics faded into the gloom. Then came a faint thud of impact as he hit bottom. It echoed for a short time before fading away into obscurity.

"WINDSTORM!" Charity cried.

* * *

The Crystal City engineer was rather jarred from the less-than-comfortable landing on his backstrut. He'd wound up with a few strained body parts when working in unnatural positions on star-ships, but this hurt far more than a simple strained limb or neck cables. His optics fritzed from the impact, repair protocols and prompts and damage reports firing through his processor. As he accepted each he groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position and subsequently pushed himself to his knee pikes.

His headlights thus soon fell on the tiny forms of Slipstream and Jetstorm. He made his way over to them, still accepting prompts and messages almost without second thought. None of them were of mandatory importance. The most damage he had was cracked headlights and an aching backstrut. Unfortunately, his hurricanes had sustained a bit of damage to the internal mechanisms, but hopefully not enough to render them useless.

"Are you two alright?" he asked.

"I am unharmed." Jetstorm assured, accepting his helping hand.

"As am I."

A flurry of voices called down from above:

"Windstorm?! Windstorm, are you okay?! Slipstream, Jetstorm, answer me! Are you guys alright down there?!"

Rather than throw his voice out with needless shouting, he opened a comm. channel to the others. "I'm fine, as are your partners, Drift. Lucky for us that water slows motion, and gravity acts a little differently in liquid mediums. If this had happened on land we'd probably be worse off."

"Is there a way out?" Strongarm called down. "My tow cable won't reach that far! Charity thinks we could try having Fix-It lock onto your position and 'bridge you out, but considering how much trouble Fracture's 'bridge has proven to be, that seems too risky for my tastes."

He agreed with her. That was a bit risky to try since he wasn't there to keep the blasted thing in check. Of course, he admitted, he could try to use his hurricanes to – he cut off abruptly.

"What? Use 'em to do what?" Grimlock hollered.

But Windstorm's attention had shifted. Something, an alert, had popped up in his processor that he couldn't understand. It was something he'd never seen before, something the crash had apparently activated. Well, that was his best guess anyway. Oh, he understood what the alert was. He just didn't know why it was there. There was no _reason_ for it to be there. Was it a glitch perhaps? He didn't know. And even stranger, the alert wasn't exactly detailing what it was either. It was...honestly, strange didn't even begin to describe it. He was baffled.

Maybe though, just maybe, this strange alert and the complicated coding packet it contained might be his ticket out of this chasm. And so he accepted the alert's request for "frame modification." In simple terms: transformation.

He felt his body begin to shift around in a far different sequence than normal. Peculiarly, there was not as much shifting as during his vehicle transformation. There was no folding in on itself. In fact, most of his limbs stayed out. The only thing that truly transformed was his legs, folding and connecting into a single object. Something did fold out from that though, and right away he felt the oceanic currents pushing against him much more than before, like the way a wind sock reacted to air gusts. Something similar happened with his hands, forcing him to actively steady himself. Within a few more seconds, the transformation was complete. So he set about examining himself.

Windstorm's lightning yellow optics weren't the only ones that went round in shock.

"What in the...?" he muttered.

No longer was he standing on the ground. His legs had been replaced by a powerful finned tail resembling a shark's but possessing a thin, translucent mesh of pale blue more belonging of a bony fish. A similar mesh wove between his digits, thus explaining why the currents had seemed to be affecting him more. While he couldn't turn around to see, his doorwings felt to have altered like his legs into a single entity – another fin-like protrusion judging from the way the water was cutting around it, but it was low and streamlined, obviously meant for speed.

"...What...are you?" Jetstorm managed to ask.

Windstorm blinked, answering as he continued to examine himself:

"Honestly...I haven't the faintest idea. I've-I've never seen anything like this before! It seems to be a sort of pseudo aquatic beast mode with traits of certain oceanic predators. I'm not entirely sure why it hasn't activated before now – other than maybe I've never been in an aquatic medium before? Why didn't it show up the instant we arrived then?" He shook his helm. Questions for later. "Regardless, if anything is built to get us out of this crevice, I think this might do it. If I combine the propulsion power of my hurricanes with the tail's movement...Let's see here..."

He activated his hurricanes to the lowest setting, giving the tail a good swish. He was pleased to note that he rose, but he had a little trouble steering and careened into the wall helm first. He massaged his sore faceplates. Well, the notion seemed sound enough. It would just take some patience. Swimming with the aid of two small turbines was a new concept to him. As was everything about this new form.

"Sparky?! What's going on down there?!" Backdraft shouted anxiously. He'd heard the thud. Sounded like he'd hit something.

He spoke into the comm. link once more: "I'm fine, Backdraft. Just puzzling out how to use my hurricanes to get me out. Propulsion works fine. Steering might be a bit of an issue. I'm not exactly used to employing them in such a manner, and I've never been in a liquid medium before. Physics are all weird down here. I think I'm getting the hang of it though. Let me try again."

"Please be careful!" Charity urged.

The engineer "knelt" as he best as he could to allow the mini-cons to grab hold of his short back fin. Each took hold with one hand.

"Hang on!"

He powered up his hurricanes to about two hundred knots and shot up like a torpedo. Twenty feet, forty feet, then sixty. He breached the one hundred foot mark and into the trench proper. Out in the distance he swore he saw something shimmer and also what looked like a search light glimmered dimly. A check on the beacon's position said it was in that direction. Nine pairs of optics watched him arc over their helms and bank around to their position in bewilderment. He came to a halt in front of Drift, letting the mini-cons off to re-attach to his arms. Everyone gawked at him silently.

"Um...tah-dah?" Windstorm said, feeling awkward but proud.

Bumblebee had the grace to stare at him: "Oh, you gotta be kidding me." A grin soon formed. Was this one of the hidden reasons Optimus had picked him?

He saw Sideswipe smirk. So it wasn't a total surprise when the red mech doubled over laughing.

"Ha! Windstorm's a mermaid! Bahaha! Oh, this is too freaking good!"

"Ah, technically that would be mer _man_ , Sideswipe. Mer _maid_ refers to the female gender. Windstorm is not a femme in case you haven't noticed." Counterforce corrected in an effort to defend Windstorm's sense of dignity. The poor mech was looking a tad offended and embarrassed right now.

"He's a mer-mech..." Sideswipe snickered. Then he burst out laughing again. "Pahaha! This is too rich! Oh, Russell's never gonna believe this! Haha!"

"Can we get back to the main conundrum at hand, please?" Windstorm requested quickly. "I saw something out in the distance that, according to my active scans, was very close to the beacon's position. I'm not sure precisely what it was, but it looked...metallic. Well, I mean to say there was a distinct sheen to the object thanks to some light source I could barely make out. It...it looked to me like a search light, lieutenant."

The yellow and black mech jolted. Could someone already be...but Fix-It hadn't detected a Decepticon signal down here! He'd only detected the beacon. Was this some human vessel performing a research mission into the trench, or even a military vessel patrolling the waters? Or had a 'Con somehow cloaked their signal, permitting them free reign? Either way, that was far from good news. On the one hand – complications with the governments of one or more nations. On the other – a clever 'Con up to no good.

"Windstorm, you can outpace us all easily now. Scout ahead." he said crisply. "Find out that what's causing that light and the metal sheen you saw. We'll rendezvous with you as soon as possible and get your report. Unless Fix-It or you can encrypt our lines on a whim, using short-band radio waves to communicate between ourselves down here is too dangerous. It might be picked up by whoever or whatever is down here with us."

In response, the engineer saluted back briskly with a firm "Yes, sir!"

They watched the strange half-fish form of their resident genius swim off into the murk, his wind cannons stirring up the water and a fine screen of silt. Soon enough his deep purple frame had melded to the ocean's dark depths.

"Hehe...mer-mech..." Sideswipe snickered again. "Russell's never gonna believe this!"

Strongarm cuffed him over the helm. "Shut it. At least _he's_ being helpful. Unlike _somebody_ I could mention."

"Enough!" Counterforce snapped, though not loudly. "Both of you. We can settle this dispute later."

They instantly fell silent, and the group started off again, each leaping over the ravine and following the trail of bubbles Windstorm had left in his wake.

* * *

Windstorm had never swam before in his life, and certainly not like this. But the more he moved in the waters, the more natural the new form began to feel. There was a strange rhythm in the way his body moved now – flowing just like the currents, smoothly yet with strength. He still wobbled regularly as was befitting of a novice, and he didn't exactly enjoy the sensation of the water brushing over him and seeping into his body either, but he thought he was getting the hang of it in general. He just had to avoid any abrupt movements and maintain a steady power output for his hurricanes.

If Russell were here to see this, he probably would've termed this transformation...oh, what was it – "severely cool?" He probably could show it to him at some point. The salvage yard was right next to the bay after all...

He surged towards the faint light he'd seen earlier, noting it grow steadily brighter the nearer he drew to it. The metallic flashing sheen he'd seen grew more frequent as well, as though the light were hitting it more often. They seemed to be coming from a large undersea mountain, but as he drew closer it clarified into a large pile of rubble and boulders. Hm. That was curious. If he didn't know any better, he'd wager something was buried there. It bore all the trademarks. But...what exactly _was_ buried under all that stone? Something massive, clearly. Elongated, too.

The engineer slowed as the mountain of rubble became perfectly clear. He could make out the source of the light now: a rather bizarre looking submarine vehicle, colored pale grey-ish blue. It was busy sweeping the debris with its search lights and, on coming to a decision, it honed in on a particularly large boulder. Then it transformed. Revealed was a highly unusual Cybertronian very closely resembling a terrestrial cephalopod, its multiple tentacles reaching under and around the boulder and hefting it loose. And on its red shoulder was a bright purple Decepticon badge.

"Oh dear..." he breathed. This could only mean trouble. Just as he was now adapted to liquid environment, so too was this fellow.

The Decepticon paused abruptly, then spun around, his lights piercing the gloom. Windstorm barely managed to avoid the light, diving down and sheltering behind a stone. The lights continued to search for him until finally they redirected back to the rubble mountain. That had been too close for comfort.

' _Seems he's hypersensitive to disturbances in the water, sound included. That might be problematic. How can you sneak up on someone who knows you're coming?_ '

He peered around from his hiding spot and observed. As he did, his optics widened in shock and disbelief. Worry began to flood his spark. The Decepticon _was_ attempting to unearth something from the stones: something large, metal, silvery grey in color from what had been revealed, and badly banged up. But he could tell what it was a flash.

' _Primus...that's a Golden Age cargo hauler! A four engine one from the looks of it! How in the world did a Cybertronian vessel wind up at the bottom of an oceanic trench light-years from Cybertron?!_ '

Hard on that came another thought:

' _And why does it look so...damaged?_ '

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yes, I actually hinted at Windstorm's "aquatic" form through his appearance. But since he's never been in a liquid medium before (in truth he doesn't really like being in them), the coding for it to unlock never triggered, and him hitting the bottom of the crevice turned the simple "notification" into a full-out alert. :) Also, JazztheTiger on DA has beautiful designs for "mer-mechs." I had to toy with the concept since many of the 'Bots in RiD possess distinctly animlistic motifs despite them having vehicular forms.**


	24. Chapter 24: In Too Deep Part 2

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 24**

 _*Go check out an updated dossier for my characters on my DeviantArt page, Kestrel-ShadowTalon!_

 _*I'm gonna start lengthening chapters from here on out. 6-7,000 words sound good to you guys? That's mainly to keep this segment, "In Too Deep" from becoming a three or four parter, because there's a ton of stuff going on here. :) And I feel like introducing another human...and I know just the one...;)_

* * *

Windstorm was as silent as still as possible for the next Earth minute or so, ensuring that the Decepticon didn't look his way again. When he was absolutely one hundred percent certain, he very slowly, very carefully peeped his helm 'round the side of his hiding place. He would not get anything useful data-wise by not observing. If he could get a good description of the target, both the alternative form and bipedal, Fix-It might be able to identify him, as he knew just from body build and movement style that the target was a mech. At least, he thought so. Thanks to the burst of light he had not glimpsed the 'Con's face when he had turned to to search for him. But maybe now that his focus – and the glaring search lights – were targeted elsewhere, he might be able to get a better look. That is, if the 'Con turned his way without spotting him...

The target was not switching between his two forms very rapidly, meaning he clearly thought he was alone down here. Whoever was dredging the old ship up was in no real hurry to finish the task. The target's submarine form he frankly held no interest in despite it being a rather compact, high-tech design. He was far more interested in the strange cephalopod bipedal form. That was very distinctive, even more so thanks to the blue and orange color scheme. Did he have a camouflage ability like other such animals, like squid and octopi? If so the 'Con didn't seem very interested in using it – again, most likely because he believed himself to be alone. Why bother hiding when no one but lowly sea creatures were around to see you? They wouldn't report him to the authorities.

That cargo ship though, for it was a Golden Age cargo hauler...what had caused it to crash in the first place? Was it the same bizarre engine failure Fix-It had undergone on the Alchemor, or some other, entirely separate reason? And what precisely had caused it so much damage? Was the damage pre-crash or post-crash? Surely not the crash alone. Water was good at slowing descent speeds thanks to the lessened gravitational effect it experienced, and it would also have cooled the super-heated ship after it punched through the atmosphere. So why, then, the deplorable physical condition? Falling into the sea and being buried in rubble for millenia didn't result in the sort of damage he was seeing. But he'd get a better idea if he was in better visual range and could perform a low-penetration scan. The lighting down here wasn't great, and the 'Con's search lights only covered so much area at once.

' _Hmph. I get fins to move around but I don't get better night vision?_ ' he pouted. ' _Well, in any case I still have my headlights. But that's not the wisest option..._ '

And so he dared get a little closer, carefully darting over behind another boulder. The 'Con seemed not to notice him. Maybe that was because he had not disturbed the water enough at this distance for the ripples to reach him? This new form cut through the water like a laser-carver through computer wiring even without the use of his hurricanes as propulsion. Something to take advantage of? Maybe? Or...no. No. That might be a little too risky even with his new water-based form. The 'Con was used to this sort of environment and was hypersensitive to boot. Windstorm was neither of those things.

But he _was_ cautious.

Well. Most of the time. But here he _would_ be more cautious. His life was at stake here.

His own curiosity was killing him though...Surely he could get just a _tad_ closer without setting the 'Con off? It wasn't like he was going right up to him or anything...

* * *

Fix-It jumped a little when Zodiac gave a low growl of frustration.

* _Frack! I can't identify it! Why can't I identify it?_ *

"...'Cause you've literally only heard about it, never found any studies or reports over it, and never seen it for yourself before?" Smokescreen hazarded.

The Avioid's helm whipped up to stare at him, royal blue optics flashing. But the anger subsided in a sparkpulse. He was right. How could she solve something if she had never seen or experienced it for herself? She had no solid data to work from – she was trying to solve an equation not knowing what any of the variables meant. There was no possible way to solve an equation if you didn't have any of the variable values. You could manage off one, but zero? That was impossible and got you into the whole crazy realm of imaginary numbers that honestly drove her screwy.

Giving in with a soft hiss of a sigh she shook herself, ruffling her metal feathers as if shaking off any negativity or residual anger. Then, storing the data pad back in her subspace compartment, she flapped her wings and took to the skies. Zodiac didn't fly off right away though, hovering instead between the Elite Guardsmech and the little orange mini-con's command center.

* _I'm gonna get some air. Maybe that'll help. Be back in a few breems._ *

Smokescreen nodded. He got where she was coming from. Like Frostbite, she needed her personal space.

"Yeah. Fly off some of that stress. Just don't go too far, okay? We don't know who's lurking out there, and we might need your help if the others start having tech issues. You and Fix-It are the techies. I'm just one of the body guards here."

* _Don't worry. Most I'll go is a tiny ways outside the walls. Maybe a mile or two. I just need some space. Not that you fellas aren't pleasant company, but...I mean, I don't wanna seem like I'm ditching or anything or making you do all the work, Fix-It._ *

"I can manage without you for a while, captain. It's fine. I'll have the Alchemor run a comparison in your absence. Maybe it has something on file about this signal – something to do with one of the prisoners perhaps. We're obviously having no luck trying to puzzle it out ourselves. The comparative analysis will take some time to complete, but at least we'll have a definitive answer in the end."

Zodiac gave him a grateful look and flew off over the walls and into the woods.

* * *

Over near Denny and Russell's trailer, Frostbite heard the wing beats, lifting his helm and swiveling his audials to determine where the tiny astronomer was going exactly. When he heard the tell-tale sound of her talons connecting with the brittle bark of a tree branch, he lowered it back down and went back to observing the two humans interact with one another. Russell seemed to appreciate having the Canipid watching their backs – and keeping Denny from being his general overprotective, somewhat childish self. He had a giant alien metal wolf with a freezing paralytic bite to handle the protective side of Guardianship for him.

He did appreciate that the boy would come over every few minutes and give him a nice rub on the helm though. White Hound though he may be, he did enjoy a good rub on the helm as much as the next Canipid.

But...something didn't feel right. He felt as if someone or something was watching him – no, not him. The salvage yard as a whole. He looked around, sniffed at the air as delicately as he could – only to find nothing. Odd...his olfactory sensors were renowned across Cybertron for how sensitive they were, able to detect the energy traces of missing mechs and femmes that were upwards of entire lunar cycles old. And while he suspected the spectral Prime was keeping watch over them per his spiritual beliefs (and per actual evidence), such benign observation would not result in this uneasy feeling he was getting. It had only started the other day, too...Well, this distinctive sense had anyway. He had been feeling for a while now that they were being watched by... _something_ – something that expanded well beyond the realm of mere mortals.

Frostbite shook his helm imperceptibly. Either he was getting paranoid thanks to all the missing convicts...or his two entirely separate feelings of being watched were more than just feelings.

* * *

Bicycling along the dirt path that led both to the football field and to the salvage yard was a girl about Russell's age. Her lean, well-built body was attired in a sandy yellow t-shirt, heavy olive green khakis that looked more befitting of a military member, and heavy combat boots that could probably let her kick in a weak wall or anyone dumb enough to give her trouble. Topping the outfit off, quite literally, was a heavy military combat helmet ever so slightly too big for her. Attached to the front of the helmet was a pair of aviator's goggles.

Hank had finally let her worry get the best of her. Russell hadn't come out to play football with her and the others like he usually did for almost a week. She had spotted him once or twice with his dad making supply runs to the store but that had been about it. She was worried something had happened. He'd looked fine on both occasions but...well, she was worried. And so she was heading over to his dad's property – the "Vintage Salvage Depot for the Discriminating Nostalgist" so the sign said (gee; talk about a mouthful) to check and see if everything was okay. Some pretty weird stuff had happened there recently, the weirdo Kaspego people making demands of the two owners notwithstanding.

Besides, she'd recently found an image online taken by one of the boy scout troops: a paw print, specifically a wolf's. A _massive_ one, too. And if the time and location stamp were to be believed, it had been taken within a few miles of the scrapyard near the old cavern system, concealed beneath some undergrowth and fallen leaves and smudged badly on purpose. According to the site, two more had been found as well, just as smudged. If there was some kinda monster wolf roaming the woods near Denny's property, she wanted a picture – either of it or another print. Oh, and warn him about said monster wolf. That too.

When the yard's tall sign was just barely readable at her distance, she put her bike up against a tree, whipped her smart phone out, and started to search. Even though she wasn't at the same stamped coordinates as the photo, to her delight she very quickly found what she was looking for. It was all she could do to refrain from shrieking her delight:

A print. A massive wolf print in the dirt, way clearer than the one the troop had found.

Hank grinned. "Awesome."

She snapped a picture with her phone. Hank was about to leave when she heard a rustling and what sounded like faint humming coming from above and a little ways to her right. She looked up, examining the trees nearest her before going further afield. Finding nothing within the fifty foot radius around her, Hank moved towards where the noise seemed to be coming from. The girl stopped at the base of an old, tall oak tree where the humming was loudest, peering up into the canopy...

And promptly let her jaw drop at what she saw:

It was some kind of bird, a hawk she guessed, but it was totally weird because it was made of metal, deep midnight blue metal dotted with twinkling lights – and it seemed to be humming a song, oblivious to Hank's presence not even fifteen feet below it. What nearly made her laugh was that it clasped what looked a lot like a nook or a kindle in one razor-like talon, precariously balancing on the other foot while bouncing a little to the song it was humming. Even funnier (and weirder) was that it was a song she was familiar with – the 2010 FIFA World Cup song: "Waka Waka (This Time for Africa)" by Shakira. Old song but great.

"Oh. My. God." she managed to mouth out. Either she was higher than a U-2 spy plane (which wasn't likely) or what she was seeing was real.

Unfortunately Hank didn't get it in time that she hadn't _just_ mouthed the words out. The bird's humming stopped in an instant and it turned a royal blue gaze on her. Much like Russell, Hank didn't scare very easy...but the bird's beak and talons looked like it could shred a Smart Car in half if it wanted to. Or slice a human like a loaf of bread.

She screamed – as did the metal bird weirdly enough. The high-pitched keen drowned out her own scream and the girl fell onto her rear from both fright and shock as her own scream ended in conjunction with her trying to back away too fast. Instead of running she simply stared, mouth agape, as the weird hawk scrambled up higher into the tree's boughs in an effort to evade her, dropping the e-reader device in its haste. Thanks to the dark coloring, it didn't really work that great. She could still see well enough to figure out where it was. It was watching her, too. Like it was...like it was _scared_.

And of course things got even weirder when she saw the hawk fold in and out on itself in such a way that it was no longer a hawk but some sort of weird metal bird woman. Well, least she knew it was a girl now – and going by body build and how she'd sounded when humming and screaming, a pretty young one, too. Teenager – sounded nineteen to her, maybe twenty. Twenty-one was pushing it a bit. Couldn't be more than twenty-two, tops.

"W-What are you?" Hank managed. " _Who_ are you?!"

"Who are _you_?!" the hawk girl half-cried, half-squeaked in alarm.

* * *

Windstorm was as close as he could possibly get. And even then he wasn't entirely satisfied with what he was seeing.

He could see the exterior damage quite well, and it looked very much like rounds of powerful blaster fire had pummeled the old cargo hauler before it had sunken, indicating it had been under attack at some point before crashing. But the surefire way to determine what made the ship crash would be to get inside the ship, find its primary sensor feed and array – which was basically the Cybertronian version of an Earth black box – and see what readings, if any, it had taken before its systems had gone down. The engineer was interested to know if it had not gotten any readings like the Alchemor. The Alchemor's primary sensor feed and array had not detected anything amiss according to Fix-It. If this ship had gone down for the same mysterious reason that the Alchemor had...then that made two instances of such ship failures.

Coincidences like that didn't happen naturally. If something kept happening, it had to have a cause other than mere chance. Repeated patterns indicated design.

He was about to try and sneak towards the ship when he felt a hand on his shoulder, dragging him back behind the rocky rise he was using as cover. Windstorm would've yelped had it not been for the other hand clamping over his mouth to stifle the sound. He was relieved to see 'Bee and the others had finally caught up with him. Grimlock had been the one to grab him. But he wasn't relieved at the fact that more bodies meant more movement which meant the 'Con salvaging the wreck would be able to sense them easier.

[What'd you find so far, sparky?] asked Sideswipe over his comm. link.

Windstorm very slowly motioned with a hand to the ship and the busy 'Con before explaining his findings and what he wanted to do.

[We need to get Fix-It to ID this creep.] Backdraft suggested. He peered around the rocky rise before darting his helm back behind cover. He had to stifle a snicker. The guy looked utterly ridiculous to him. He just couldn't take him seriously with all those extra arms.

[Already sent him a data burst just before you lot got here. He should be coming back with the data any – ah-ha! Description and behavior matches one Octopunch. Was the leader of a Star Seeker pirate gang – the one that's been in operation since the late Golden Age – and was the mech responsible for making the victim ship crash so they could loot it and any survivors or dead of their cargo. His little group made the mistake a while back of attacking a transporter carrying some very sensitive items and materials to Velocitron. Didn't expect the crew to fight back either. His side lost miserably in the ship-to-ship fire fight that broke out after the first crippling shot was fired. Star Seeker ship was disabled and towed back to Cybertron along with the crew, where they all faced trial. Octopunch got locked away for assault, collateral mechslaughter, and robbery.]

[Why was he not on the Alchemor's scanners then?] Strongarm wondered. [If he's in the database, why did his signal not show up but the beacon's did?]

Drift had been wondering the same thing.

[That...I haven't quite puzzled that out yet.] admitted the engineer slowly. [My best theory at the moment is that the beacon's signal is stronger than his, thus Octopunch's signal was "drowned out" in the electromagnetic "noise" the beacon is outputting. I'm actually surprised it hid him completely. Normally you get little discrepancies in such "EM cloaking" that tell you there's another signal. That makes me think he could have salvaged together a rudimentary signal dampener in order to make himself harder to find.]

Grimlock looked at him as if he was slowly, very slowly, starting to understand his tech talk – but not really. [Maybe he's the guy who set the beacon off?]

[Not very likely, Grim.] Counterforce argued. [Look at his progress. Seems he's only just begun to unearth it.]

Sentenza nodded. [Point to Goldie on that. Only way for a Golden Age beacon to get activated is if something foreign touches it, it suffers from sudden, intense movement like an earth quake, or someone actually activated it by flipping it on. I mean, _maybe_ moving one of those boulders made the ship shift enough to flip the beacon, but I'm not sure that would be enough. You need pretty significant movement to make one of those things turn on.]

[That raises another question. Windstorm, you said this ship might possibly have been attacked?] Charity asked. The engineer nodded, so she went on: [An attack and a crash landing – and yet the beacon doesn't turn on in either instance, despite all the movement? Am I the only one who thinks that's a little weird?]

Every Autobot shook their helms at her. No, she wasn't the only one.

[I'd know more if I could access the ship's primary sensor feed.] Windstorm stated simply. [But, of course, there's the issue of getting by our many-armed friend over there. He's hypersensitive to any disturbances in the water of any kind – physical, photonic, energy-based. We're lucky he hasn't picked up on our comm. link communications yet.]

He didn't exactly like the thoughtful look Bumblebee got then. And he liked even less what he suggested next:

[Windstorm...do you think you could play decoy long enough for us to get inside?]

In his shock, Windstorm forgot entirely to shout his shock over the comm. link...and instead shouted it aloud as he jerked upwards. "Are you _mad?!_ I'm a star-ship engineer, not a trained soldier!"

Only too late did he realize his mistake. He clapped his hands over his mouth. The 'Con's search lights whipped over to the rise to focus on him. He turned around, blinked, offered a quick, disarming smile at Octopunch and said:

"Oh! Is this your ship? Sorry. I was just looking. At your, um, salvaging technique. And the wreck. Star-ship engineer; sort of my thing to like looking at ships. You know it's four engine cargo hauler form the Golden Age? No? Yes? Maybe? Well, it is, and very damaged. Just thought you'd like to know. I'll just be on my way now. Didn't mean to cause trouble. Or interrupt. Or anything. Sorry."

For a very brief moment it seemed like Octopunch might let him go with nothing more than a warning. Or maybe his fast-paced wording had simply taken him off guard for a moment as he tried to process it. But his confused expression altered to one of anger when he spotted the bright red Autobot crest on the engineer's upper chest. He also seemed to suddenly focus on the rise, holding out two of his tentacles to scan the water. Fury quickly turned to wrath.

"Autobots! Back off! This is my ticket off this planet! And you ain't gonna stop me!"

Octopunch grabbed one of the massive boulders and flung it at Windstorm with a grunt of effort. The leaner mech barely had time to rocket out of the way, the hurled stone clipping his tail before it landed behind the rise. A yelp or three confirmed to the pirate that the weird fish mech wasn't alone, and the remaining Autobots darted out of cover to avoid being crushed.

"Go! Go! Get to the ship!" Bumblebee shouted. He looked up to see Windstorm dodge another stone tossed his way. "Strongarm! Help me give Windstorm some cover! Counterforce – shed some light for us! Everyone else, go with Drift!"

Counterforce nodded as Strongarm pulled out her Hunter and the other his pistol. The black Seeker beside him looked more than ready for a fight. Her optics flashed red. From a distance, Bumblebee noticed it. Drift motioned for the others to follow him and together they took off towards the ship.

"Sen'za – time for a vanishing act!"

The Praxian focused, skidded to a pause, and set about activating his photon absorption panels. Within astroseconds his whole body began to glow a powerful gold. His optics shut.

"Guys!" Charity warned.

Every Autobot willfully shuttered their optics. Without any warning, the entire ocean floor was lit up by a burst of gold light. It was only a klik or two in duration, but it was more than enough judging by Octopunch's cry of pain, his optics seared by the flare. But to the consternation of Bumblebee and Drift, it didn't seem to impair his aim by much. One boulder barely missed Grimlock as he ran. Blind though he was now, his powerful sensory net was feeding him data to help him determine where everyone was.

' _Scrap! Windstorm wasn't kidding!_ ' Sideswipe thought, dodging another flung boulder and kicking up a cloud of thick silt as he spun.

But it gave him an idea. A very clever idea.

' _Wait a klik, wait a klik. If he's using his net to find us by picking up our movement...what if we gave him a bunch more targets? Confuse_ _him_? _Give 'im so much movement and so many currents that he won't be able to find us in the confusion?_ '

He screeched to a halt halfway to the ship, kicking up more silt. His little idea was given ground to stand on when a flung boulder hit the silt cloud instead of him. The red mech grinned. Oh, yeah. This would totally work. He just needed it on a larger scale – large enough to cover the breach team. And he knew just the mech to provide that now. But first he needed to distract Octopunch long enough for him to relay the idea to him in one go so the guy wouldn't be able to puzzle it out in time.

* _Sideswipe! What are you doing?!_ * Drift barked over short band.

* _Trust me! Just stop! Stop moving for a klik!_ *

They obeyed while Sideswipe put himself in park, dug his wheels into the heavy layer of silt beneath him, and floored his accelerator to its absolute limit. A huge plume of silt was quickly tossed into the ocean around him. Very carefully he transformed in the cloud and snuck out of it, smirking broadly. Grimlock and Charity gave him odd looks in a silent demand for answers. Drift and Backdraft were similarly confused, but comprehension was dawning on the former's faceplates. Still – what exactly was the kid up to?

* _Windstorm! Point your hurricanes at the ground! Put 'em at max power! Give us a siltscreen! It confuses his sensor net! I think he's using motion to find us, not energy or anything! We can use it to slip in, and maybe Sen'za can use it to get in close and give our creep a whack on the helm or something! We get inside this thing, we'll be out of his line of fire for a bit! Then you can find out what made this thing go under, maybe even screw with it so it can't be used!_ *

The engineer gave no verbal response, but he gave a physical one. He arced around and dove for the seabed, pointing his hurricanes at the ground to slow himself. A great roar like from a raging cyclone came as the twin devices were revved up as high as they would go. Within mere kliks a colossal plume of heavy silt was thrown into the waters, clouding Windstorm. And it kept growing until it practically covered the expanse from the rise to the ship. It was thinner near the edges, but it was thicker than pitch as one got nearer the center, debris such as bones and small rocks floating in it.

* _GO!_ * Sideswipe shouted.

Drift, Charity, Backdraft, and Grimlock bolted into movement, going as fast as they could until they reached the mound where the ship was, hiding amidst the stones near the base as well as they could.

Unfortunately, Sideswipe had neglected the physics aspect of such a plan. The basic laws of motion said that "for every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction." Windstorm's hurricanes acted much like rocket engines in this environment, the sheer force output enough to send him flying upwards, tumbling wildly as he tried to orient himself. He did manage it in the end though, and shot in their direction, using the cloud as cover.

* _Come on, guys! Move it! Move it! Move it! This thing won't last long, and I don't think we can trick him twice!_ *

They couldn't see Strongarm, Counterforce, or Bumblebee until they drove right up to them, hidden in the shadow of the ship. Bumblebee was grinning like a mad mech, and the red speedster was pleased with himself when he gave him a light clap on the back.

* _Nice call, Sideswipe! Now that was using your helm!_ *

Backdraft looked around. * _Where's Sen'za?_ * After the photon flare from the walking nightlight, he'd lost sight of her.

They got their answer when a particularly loud _CLANG!_ met their audials.

* _Octopunch is_ _out_.* A pause. Another metal-on-metal impact was heard. Then: _*Well, now he is. Want me to give Fix-It call?_ *

* _Sure.*_ Bumblebee told her over short band. But then he switched over to her private frequency: * _Think you could stay when you take him through? I'm...I'm a little worried about you being down here. In the dark. Five miles closer to a certain somebody downstairs. I...saw one of your, ah, glitches. There's not a ton of light down here, and that photon burst probably drained Counterforce's reserves down to almost nothing. We don't know how artificial light works with it. Pit, we don't even know if the ship's lighting arrays still work._ *

He could almost imagine her wince as she answered: * _...Oh._ *

The mech expected her to resign willingly like normal, since she understood the danger better than anyone, but he was startled to hear obvious insult in her voice when she shot back:

* _'Bee, look. Hear me out. You know I can handle myself down here. I did it in the cave, and I can do it here. That burst scared it into remission, and I got a lot of light this morning. I can manage for a bit thanks to that. I don't like being sidelined like this. Let me help. You might need a forensics expert to figure out what happened to this ship, because there had to be a crew manning it. If this thing was shot down like Windstorm thinks it was...there could be bodies in there. I might get some data from them._ _CF is good at that, but two processors are always better than one._ *

He found it pretty hard to argue with her. She had a point. Before he could tell her that she could stay, she heard her curse loudly.

* _What?_ *

* _...He's gone._ *

* _What?! You said he was knocked out!_ *

* _I'm tellin' you he's gone! I looked away to try and find you guys, but now there's nothing! I've not got his signal either!_ *

Bumblebee considered that. If the 'Con looked like an Earth octopus...maybe he shared their camouflage ability as well. Octopi and squids were some of the most notorious mimics in the animal kingdom, and obviously Octopunch was smart – _and_ durable enough to sustain two direct, powerful hits from the Seeker's scythe. It wasn't true cloaking like Sentenza could do, but it was still very effective if it could elude the Seeker's sharp, dark adjusted optics. And that wasn't to mention that this more or less proved Windstorm's theory that he may have cobbled together a signal dampener.

He turned to see Grimlock looking at the boulders alongside Windstorm, the other carefully removing boulders under his command from where he hovered above. The latter gave a cry of delight when he seemed to find something behind the rubble, zipping in to examine the find.

"Hey guys! I think we found the cargo hold ramp thingy! Busted up but sparky thinks we can use it to get in!" Grimlock said. Against Charity's gentle protests he started heaving boulders out of the way with his usual fervor.

The scout considered once more the situation.

* _He has to show his faceplates again if he wants to have a go at us. He thinks this ship is his for the taking, so he sure as heck won't let us mess around in it without a fight. At least in the ship we might have a little more cover and be able to move around better. Y'know, if it hasn't flooded. Come on and join us below. Our resident nerd just found the cargo hold and Grim's clearin' the way for us._ *

* _Thank you, 'Bee. Get Strongarm and some of the boys to help him. I bet Charity's throwing a fit about that._ *

The former scout managed a short bark of a chuckle as he answered: * _Not as much as Ratchet would if he were here._ *

* * *

Sentenza shut off her comm. link and made to carefully clamber down from the high point of the mound where she'd ambushed Octopunch. Knowing the pirate was still on the loose, she activated her cloaker to stay hidden. That had seemed to work dangerously well earlier. Cloakers didn't just conceal bodies; they could also conceal energies as well, so she'd used it to hide both her frame and her signal from him – then, two good hits from her scythe. She'd seen him fall unconscious.

And yet the bugger had still managed to elude her by masterful faking. The Demon was not pleased with that slip up, hissing at her that she should have finished the murdering pirate for good. She reminded Her that that was not the mission here – the mission was contain and capture, not kill. She could get away with it on Cybertron...but not here. There was too much at risk here.

' _But you want to see what might happen here, don't you_? _You know you are stronger here..._ ' purred the Demon persuasively. Even as it spoke, the voice print shifted from the regular feminine to a raspy masculine.

She knew then. This wasn't the Demon, not anymore. It was Unicron. Actually, she'd been waiting for this, a chance to give him a message. And give it to him she did: The Seeker femme gave him the most painful mental slap she could manage with a vicious snarl:

' _FRACK OFF!_ '

There was a dangerous pause before he spoke again: ' _Ah. So it would seem this little demon does have horns, after all..._ '

' _Go. Away. Leave me alone!_ '

Suspiciously, he started chuckling to himself.

' _I could have prevented this if you would only give in to the darkness in your spark. But please, keep resisting me. I much prefer it. It gives me a challenge..._ '

' _What? What do you mean "prevented this?" The Alchemor crash?_ '

' _No_. _Not that..._ '

Suddenly she felt multiple limbs grab onto her from seemingly all angles wrapping around her frame, constricting her. Something heavy and feeling much like a stone was slammed against her helm with force enough to leave a nasty dent and even break open the mesh. Sentenza gave a weak cry of pain as the world around her went fuzzy, spinning around her before finally going black. Slowly, she toppled and fell. Tiny droplets of Energon trickled out of the bash wound, ghost-like, thin tendrils of the glowing fuel swept away on gentle ocean currents.

' _That._ '

* * *

Russell was busy entertaining Tumbler by the trailer when the relaxed Canipid nearby suddenly jolted fully alert, making him and Tumbler both jump in surprise. He wasn't encouraged to note Frostbite's icy blue optics were wide, his audials were pricked straight up at ninety degrees, and he was sniffing rapidly at the air. He'd been around Frostbite long enough by now that he was beginning to understand his shifts in behavior and what they meant.

This, what he was seeing right now? This was one hundred percent "I heard something out there that human ears would not pick up and I'm trying to get a scent."

Before he could think to stop him, the wolf leapt to all four paws and bounded for the nearest wall, vanishing over it in a flash of white and pale blue. And before his dad could think to stop Russell himself, he was sprinting for the gate on the north wall in a mad haste. Denny at last got his voice back and shouted at Russell, asking him where the heck he thought he was going.

"Frostbite! Wait!" he shouted loudly, knowing the wolf would hear him. But he never showed up. For all he knew he was a mile away by now.

He darted through the commons. Smokescreen and Fix-It saw him, confusion in their expressions.

"Russell? What's the matter? Is something wrong?" Fix-It wondered.

The boy slowed long enough to pant out in short puffs: "I think Frostbite – heard something – out there in the woods. Gonna go see – what's wrong."

"Uh-uh. You aren't goin' out there alone or on foot. Way too dangerous." Smokescreen argued with finality. "We don't know what Frosty found out there."

Russell was about to snap at Smokescreen that it might be an intruding Decepticon, maybe even Steeljaw or one of his goons, but the words were cut short when the mech continued:

"Lemme give you a lift. We'll go check it out. Fix-It, hold the fort for a klik."

One transformation sequence later and the Lotus's doors opened to let him in. By the time Denny reached the commons the vehicle had already peeled out of the now closing gates.


	25. Chapter 25: In Too Deep Part 3

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 25**

 _*Loving long chapters. Gonna make this a long one._

* * *

"What do you think he found?" Russell asked once they were clear of the gates.

The Autobot crest on Smokescreen's wheel flashed as he spoke:

"I'm...not sure. Frostbite's been on edge ever since we got here. I've noticed it a lot more lately though. He's jumpier than usual. I never met him in person on Cybertron but all the reports on him say he's calm and collected most of the time, and the rest of the time he's protective to a fault. That he jumped at Drift when he got here shows he's more on edge, maybe even more aggressive. Could be anything from a 'Con to a harmless deer."

"Let's hope it's the deer then."

Smokescreen fell silent as he focused and spun around to the wall Frostbite had vanished over. He spoke up once more:

"That may be too optimistic. I didn't tell Fix-It or you at the scrapyard because I felt it might cause panic. But right before you started pelting for the gate, and I assume that was pretty close to when Frosty ditched us, I felt Zodiac panic over something. Just out and out fear. Or was it surprise? I..." He laughed a little. "Kinda hard to tell with her sometimes."

"Yeah, but doesn't she freak out at a lot of things?" Russell reminded him.

"No, yeah. She does. That's _people_ mostly, though. But she knows a lot of the wildlife around here is harmless to her, and she can out-fly it if she wants to. She's got no reason to go panicking at the sight of a deer or a songbird or something. Heck, she saw a songbird the first day we got here and freaking tried to talk to it. That reaction of hers doesn't put the 'just a deer' theory very high on the list, Russell. Probably not a 'Con though since Fix-It didn't pick up any signals. Not reassuring either way. Zodiac freaks out, yeah, but she only freaks out this bad if something really scares the spark out of her. Weird thing is...she seems to be calming down."

Russell's brow furrowed. That was weird. Something scared the living daylights out of her, enough to frighten Smokescreen, and now she was calming down? If it weren't for Quillfire being locked up he would've instantly said he was the culprit. His toxin had some pretty weird side effects after all. Calming a highly skittish introvert might very well be one of them.

The Lotus slowed sped along after rounding the corner of north wall to the one where Frostbite had disappeared over. His form wasn't really built for off-roading, and faster speeds meant more engine noise – but he was anxious. Almost instantly he found tracks, ones led off deeper into the woods. Frostbite's signal had slowed on his scanners and was nearly at a stand-still. Zodiac's was more or less in the same spot. No 'Con signals. And Zodiac wasn't talking to him like she usually did; she wasn't blocking him either, nor was she being blocked. This day just couldn't get any weirder.

He just hoped the others were okay. Dealing with pirates was never a good idea.

* * *

With a creaking of old battered metal the cargo ramp had deployed. The empty chamber had filled with water rapidly, forcing them to retract the ramp and seal that section of the ship off lest the whole vessel flood. But thankfully Windstorm had managed to find a release valve that had then mostly drained it. The engineer, no longer needing to swim, had thus swapped out his new form for his old one.

They had quickly left the eerily empty hold and exited into a wide dull silver corridor, nearly pitch black aside from some very dim, still functioning emergency lighting on the ceilings and floors.

Bumblebee didn't like the place. The design reminded him a little too much of the Nemesis. It brought back memories from the War he'd much rather forget. He knew he never really could though. You didn't forget something like war once you'd experienced it firsthand. Mnemosurgery was a banned medical practice, too; had been since the late Golden Age. Trying to alter memories could be dangerous. Hadn't stopped Shockwave and Megatron from using their patch device to do just that during the War. Unconsciously he shivered slightly. Charity noticed.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, placing a hand on his arm.

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine." he said rather unconvincingly. "Just...bad memories."

She put a little more pressure on his arm before removing it and going over to try to examine Grimlock. The Dinobot once more spurned her care stubbornly. He was grateful she was here now, in more ways than one. But he stiffened as that brought up something worrisome. Drift beat him to it though; beat Sideswipe and Counterforce to it as well.

"Where is Sentenza? I thought you said she was joining us, lieutenant?"

"No, yeah. I did. Sentenza? Are you here and just cloaked?"

They waited for a good Earth minute. No response came. Worry began to mount with a vengeance.

"You don't think she got locked outside, do you?" Sideswipe asked. "I mean, that's not like her. She wants to help. And it's dangerous for her to be out there in the dark with Octopunch. We all know that."

"Not all of us." Drift reminded him a bit coldly.

Sideswipe laughed nervously. "Oh. Uh. Yeah. Right..."

Strongarm took the initiative. There was an easy way to know for certain since they knew their comm. links did in fact work down here. Fix-It could use the Alchemor's scanners to look for her signal so long as she hadn't cloaked it. She thus opened one back to base...and came back with static laced with her own voice. She reported the issue to the party. Counterforce and Windstorm hazarded together that perhaps something in the ship was jamming their communications with the surface by making the signal bounce back on itself.

"I didn't realize Golden Age cargo ships were so secret-y. I mean, they just hauled cargo, right? Like today's?" Backdraft observed. "Why d'ya think they'd block communications?"

"I don't know." admitted Windstorm. "Perhaps the communications array simply suffered damage in the attack or crash. That's not impossible. I've heard of this problem happening before. Or perhaps this is some kind of defense mechanism to keep looters from coming here en masse to pick the wreck clean or reactive it. I know that's a tactic as well that was fairly common in the Golden Age. Still in use today but only on ships carting sensitive information or objects, and those ships usually have cloaking fields to stay hidden from such opportunistic looters. Not a perfect system – no system is – but effective."

"We need to get you to the main sensor thingy." reminded Grimlock. "Then we can find out what really happened to this thing."

"This ship is large. We'd save more time splitting up; cover more ground that way." Windstorm concluded. He sounded hesitant though. Everyone understood why:

Splitting up was a possibly bad idea considering their now useless comm. links. If someone hit a problem or needed help there was no way to call for support. But judging by the state of the ship alone there was a very low chance they would come across opposition. Octopunch was their only problem and it was only a matter of time until he found the very cargo ramp they had used to gain entry – for all they knew he already had and had slipped by them unnoticed. Then it would turn into a dangerous game of cat and mouse as one side tried to start the ship and the other tried to sabotage it.

Bumblebee glanced at Counterforce. The Praxian nodded. He was on the same page as him. Once more he was a little surprised that the investigator was deferring to him, letting him be the one to give orders.

"Alright. Drift, go with Windstorm and Backdraft. You guys head for the bridge; see if see if you can find out what downed this thing. If I remember right that's usually where the sensory feed is located. You might be able to fix communications from there as well. Once you find out what happened, find a way to make sure this ship never gets airborne. Find the self-destruct and blow it to kingdom come if you have to or blow up the engines. I don't care. Just make sure this thing stays down here. Strongarm, you're with me and Counterforce. We got the possibly gore-y job – we'll see if we can find any crew that might give us come clues. Charity, you're with Grimlock and Sideswipe. Search the ship, see if you can find Sentenza."

"If any of you happen across bodies, do not touch them. Make observations; we'll swap data when we meet up at the bridge. Everyone keep an eye out for Octopunch." Counterforce finished. "And stay together."

They split off.

* * *

Hank stared up at the strange metal bird-girl for about a minute, trying to convince herself this was some sort of weird hallucination because there was no way this could be real. And the bird-girl stared back, still obviously scared. Neither were willing to speak and introduce themselves so soon after scaring one another. But she did at last get to her feet, still more than a little shaken and wary.

She went over to the strange e-reader the bird-turned-girl had dropped. All the while the bird-girl watched her anxiously, afraid of her. Hank picked it up, eyes widening. This thing did not look like any nook or kindle she was familiar with. It was sleeker. And the stuff on the screen was not something she recognized right away. Hastily she wracked her brain for the lessons she had learned in her physics class: a frequency. That what this weird thing on display was. Notes and calculations adorned any free space on the screen, written in a bizarre language she did not recognize. If anything this...whatever it really was resembled a super fancy prototype tablet, like nothing she'd ever seen. When she experimentally touched the screen at a certain point a hologram of the frequency was project along with all the other notes and calculations. Well, she assumed that's what they were.

The girl on the ground looked up curiously. This was no mere metal animal made by the military. It was smart. It was studying something.

"What...what is this?"

The bird-girl shrank away. Silence. Then:

"Y-You mean the-the data pad?" Her voice was a tomboyish squeak. "Um...could I have that back please?"

"Is that what this is? Some sort of tablet? Well what's on it? You studying something?" Rather than hold it up, Hank held on to it. The language on it puzzled her to no end. It didn't resemble anything from Earth that she knew of. Actually, it sort of reminded her of the written language of the Atlanteans in _Atlantis: The Lost Empire_ and a little bit of Chinese or Japanese; they were not letters but symbols. But that was only a comparison. This...this didn't match either.

"Ye-Yeah." answered the bird-girl slowly. "Um...who-who are you? And can I have my data pad back please?" she repeated.

Hank's fear began to abate. The bird-girl didn't sound dangerous nor did she act dangerous. She sounded like a shy person unused to interacting with people. Honestly, the bird-girl sounded more afraid of Hank than Hank was of her, and she was the one with the razor talons and sharp beak. It was kinda funny in hindsight how scared she behaved when she had the capacity to kill her.

"In case you didn't notice I can't fly like you. And that tree isn't really built for climbing. So you're gonna have to come down here to get it."

The bird-girl hesitated once more, and more visibly this time, but in the end dropped down to the ground with a thud. Hank could estimate her height a little better now. She herself was about four foot ten and Russel was a tad taller than her. She guessed that the bird-girl was maybe about seven foot or seven foot five, maybe seven foot six if she pushed her guess. The bird form was of a slightly smaller size – six foot eight or maybe six foot nine? Honestly she wasn't all that large. Didn't look as intimidating as her bird form did. In a weird way she kinda looked like a metal Thanagarian from DC comics, but rounder in the head and with a much more obvious bird motif in her look rather than Egyptian-y.

"Here."

She handed the data pad back. The bird-girl took it carefully as if Hank were a live bomb or something. The bird-girl quickly checked it for what she assumed was damage or maybe unintentional tampering, royal blue eyes flicking around the frame and screen.

"I'm Henry by the way. Sorry for not answering the first time. But who are you? You never said so."

"I-I'm Zodiac."

Hank blinked, smiling. "Zodiac, huh? That's a cool name. So? What is it you're working on there? You got a job or something? A researcher?"

"I-I'm an astronomer actually." Some of the fear in the bird-girl faded at her friendliness. "Planetary scientist. This is just –"

A low growl stopped the now named Zodiac cold. Henry herself tensed. She had seen enough Nature documentaries to know that sound. It was the growl of a wolf. She yelped and nearly screamed when she and Zodiac turned to find a massive white form the size of a mini-van watching them from atop a large boulder, fangs bared. Part of Hank wanted to keep screaming and part of her wanted to shout victory (whether or not said victory was a good thing was a matter of debate in her mind) for the white form was nothing less than a giant wolf – a wolf with saber fangs no less. Its massive paws matched the prints she had found. And just like the bird-girl it was made of glistening metal – white and pale blue. Icy blue eyes were narrowed to almost slits and watched her suspiciously. Its heckles were raised threateningly.

Hank swallowed hard. "F-Friend of yours?" she stammered.

The growling grew louder. The wolf's ears pinned back. It jumped down and stalked ever closer to them. Its fangs were doing something weird now: each was dripping with some kind of fluid. When it hit the ground it hissed and froze in an instant. Some of the drops landed on fallen twigs, leaves, pebbles, and grass, and some of these items the wolf stepped on. Those items were crushed as if suddenly made of glass. A number of YouTube videos flew to her memory then: items being dipped in vats and then shattering like glass. Liquid nitrogen. That's what the stuff was.

Oh boy.

* * *

"Sirs? What do you think happened to Sentenza?"

Strongarm, Bumblebee, and Counterforce had remained silent for a while as they walked down the empty, dimly lit halls. The two mechs understood why the cadet was so quiet: she was used to patrol duties. Looking for bodies on an ancient wrecked ship in an effort to find out what had happened may be a little too much for her to swallow at once. Searching for bodies was never a pleasant matter. The Praxian's own face was grim, hard as steel. Determined but morose.

It was a bit ironic to the cadet that someone who so obviously despised death was a homicide investigator, but perhaps there was a grain of sense in it – in serial cases it was always a matter of stopping another killing. Counterforce enjoyed saving lives. Failing that, he would bring justice to the culprit and closure to the victim's loved ones by solving and then revealing what had happened.

"Sirs?" she repeated.

"I don't know, cadet." Counterforce replied. "I'm personally worried she may have come to harm. She's capricious but not one to turn down a chance to help – even if it might be better if she did. She was always a bit...negligent about danger and her personal safety on Cybertron. Her lessor, Camber, kindly informed after we started, erm, walking out together that when she first started out more than once she came to her flat to find her tending injuries. Here is no different but with the added risk of..." He turned to the yellow mech striding at his side. "Bumblebee, what exactly _is_ causing her to behave so much more violently? I think you know but are reluctant to tell me for one or more reasons."

"Reluctant for good reason." admitted the other honestly. "I know exactly who's making her like this and I'm not sure we can stop him."

Strongarm and Counterforce stared at him.

"You mean an actual person is behind this?" he demanded.

"Try cosmic-class entity bent on total destruction." Bumblebee hinted dryly.

They stared again.

"You mean...?" Strongarm trailed off. " _Unicron's_ doing this to her? Why? How?"

"I don't know. All I know is she's vulnerable to him for some reason, can hear his voice. Trust me when I say that it's not so easy to resist as you might think. I know somebody who suffered the same problem but for a different reason. If not for Optimus he'd still be hearing him and under his direct control. A puppet for him to play with."

Counterforce latched onto the information in an instant: "Then there's a way to stop this. We can help her?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. If we had a Prime and a Matrix. But we don't. Because some genius decided it was a good idea to make a split second decision that he believed forced him to commit ritual suicide when really if he'd bothered to stick around we could've _fixed the problem._ He just _had_ to play the hero."

Those last sentences, shockingly, had been spat out venomously, almost as if the words were a curse. Counterforce's optics widened alongside Strongarm's.

"You...you hate him for that? You despise him?" he asked gently. "If not for him, none of us would be here. We owe him our very existence. Others might dismiss him as nothing more than a myth now, but I don't. I don't think anyone here does. That might explain why he communicated with with us as easily (if mysteriously in some cases) as he did."

Bumblebee seemed to realize he'd let his emotions speak a little too forcibly. His blue gaze dropped. His hands clenched, loosened. He couldn't find the words. How could he explain? A soft growling hiss escaped. There was no way they would understand the pain each member of Team Prime had suffered after that day, nor would they fully understand the consequences his departure had caused to them and to society as a whole. He shook his helm, growling again. They saw him as a life-giver, not as an unintentional pain-bringer.

Wordlessly he quickened his pace. Strongarm glanced at Counterforce for some sort of clarification.

"This still bothers him? He's still upset? Even after all this time?" she wondered softly.

She alone saw his golden optic glow slightly brighter as he replied with cryptic poetry:

"Scars such as these never truly heal. They do not even fade. They linger, dull and aching, always reminding of the original pain."

He blinked. She noticed nothing was wrong with his optic now. Strongarm was ready to swear it had been a trick of the dim lights or her imagination getting the best of her. But the way he spoke...it was different than how he normally did so. Counterforce was polite and formal but also casual in his speech. This? This had been more formal than what she had grown used to. She had to wonder: why the change? Was it the subject matter? Or something else?

"Come on. We need to stay together." he said.

The Praxian jogged after the retreating form of Bumblebee, leaving Strongarm to catch up.

* * *

Try as Grimlock might to hide his limp from the medic walking ahead of him, it was getting harder by the breem. The more he moved around the more it seemed to hurt. But he stubbornly refused to turn to Charity for aid. He kept telling himself he'd had hits like this before and had no problem. And in a way that wasn't far from the truth of things. Underbite had hit him way harder than that obstacle had more than once already and he'd pulled through no problem. Maybe his repair nanites were just slower 'cause Energon was in short supply here. Even he knew that the little robots didn't work as well if they didn't have the needed energy to do their jobs.

Still. The dainty healer kept casting glances back at him. He had a feeling she knew it was getting worse.

* _Charity, if you keep looking back at him like that he's gonna suspicious. I think he already might be._ * Sideswipe warned her over short band. They'd discovered this means of communication was still open for them, but like the name implied it worked only over a very short range. They couldn't use it to check in with the others unless they were in that very short range.

* _Sorry. I just...that limp seems to be getting worse. I'm worried that hit might've dislocated or damaged something._ _I don't want to nag him about it...but he needs that looked at before it gets any worse. He'll never admit it though._ *

Sideswipe was a little bewildered by this: * _Wait, then how come you haven't ordered him to stop? Like, pulled rank on him or something and look at it then? Doesn't the whole Triage Code give you that ability?_ *

* _I've dealt with Predacons before, Sideswipe. But I've never dealt with Dinobots. The Dinobot Coalition is even more removed from society than the Predacon Council is. You rarely ever hear of them. I know next to nothing about them or their societal standards other than that they're obviously more stubborn than any Predacon could ever be and frankly more destructive. All I know for certain is that they place a lot more value in strength than the Predacons. By forcing him to let me look I'm worried I might..._ *

* _You don't want to offend him._ * There was no disguising the surprise in his voice. He glanced back and then went on: * _Charity, honestly. It's really hard to offend him. Hurt his feelings? Yes. That's been done before. But offend him? A lot harder than you're making it sound, femme. Trust me._ *

But Charity did not look wholly convinced and did not pester him. Perhaps she was reading between lines when it really wasn't needed, but Grimlock had proven himself to be a gentle spark despite his brute strength and tendency for breaking things. He was very mindful around the mini-cons and the humans – even herself and Zodiac. Anything smaller or weaker than him he tried to be careful around. That did not exactly square with what she knew of the Dinobot Coalition, nor with his former branding of Decepticon.

They kept walking when Grimlock stopped a bit abruptly, an inattentive Sideswipe cannoning into him from behind. With equal suddenness he started again, slower this time. Very plainly the sound of air cycling could be heard. He was scenting. That could be taken as a good sign or a bad one.

"Grim? What is it?" asked the red mech.

"...We're not alone in here." said the Dinobot. "Also smellin' rust n' Energon."

"Not alone?" Sideswipe repeated dubiously. "Grim, we're the only ones here next to a missing Sen'za and maybe Octopunch. Is it one of them?"

"No. Not them. But lots of different smells. Been smellin' 'em for a while now, ever since we hit this hallway and the one before it."

Sideswipe blinked at that, arguing that that made no sense. There was no way he was believing any of the crew of a Golden Age freighter had survived after all this time in a damaged ship at the bottom of the ocean! Besides, ghosts didn't have scents...did they?

Charity frowned. "Smell of rust and Energon must mean there's a body nearby. Can you find it? Maybe we can get some clues we can share with the others when we meet up. Just be careful. Whatever's in here with us might mistake us as intruders. If any of the crew did survive in cryo-stasis and were let out when the beacon activated they might be disoriented. They'll have no idea who we are and might attack. For all they know we're the ones who attacked and sank the ship."

The Dinobot nodded and plodded ahead of them a ways, motioning for them to keep back. Try as he might to hide it from her, she still caught the way he was subtly favoring one side. He paused again after only a short distance, blue optics widening at something he saw to his left. He backed away.

"Guys. You need to see this..."

They came. Grimlock was standing in front of a slightly ajar door, its cracked viewing window revealing a motionless, rusted corpse within: a femme, large and well-built, face down. A warrior class or working class was what came to mind. A pool of long-dried Energon lay beneath her. Charity's hands flew to her mouth in shock, her jade optics wide and pained. Instantly she wrenched open the door and rushed in to stoop over the body. She ran a scanning green beam over it a few times. It flashed red on more than one spot.

"What...what happened to her?" Sideswipe asked. He had a bad feeling the rest of the crew were like this.

"Ran through with a blade in her lower chassis and then shot in the spark chamber from behind for good measure. First resulted in major line rupture. She probably fell from loss of Energon in mere kliks. Second wound was inflicted after she fell. I think it was...was just to make sure she was offline."

Grimlock shuddered: "Nasty...Any idea who or what did this?"

"I'm a medic, Grim. I'm not a crime scene investigator. I deal with those who survive their wounds. And this death took place back in the Golden Age. That's millenia ago. After all this time I doubt there's any evidence left." She rose. "This doesn't explain those other scents you picked up. They didn't match anything in your tracking databases?"

The Dinobot shook his helm. No. No matches. Completely new. He knew everyone's scents by spark now thanks to Frostbite. And they were also real fresh. Recent.

"How many exactly?"

"A dozen at least. Single trails that joined up at one point then split off. Three of 'em smelled a bit...funny, too. And unless I was imagining it or something, I could almost swear I picked up whiffs o' that cryo-gas we use in the pods..."

"Cryo-gas traces might indicate some of the crew _did_ survive after all this time. Must also mean there's still fuel in the engines that's being pumped into life support. Re-route it and you might just get this thing running again. Point is, either the beacon's activation overrode the stasis protocols...or something else woke them up. What though?"

Sideswipe headed out the door. He wanted to find out what was going on with this freaky ship. Mostly though he wanted to get out of the room with the dead body. Thing was giving him the creeps. He felt like something was watching him in there in a kind of desperate way. He'd never believed in ghosts or anything, but he knew the superstition regarding them as well as anyone. That and having a close encounter with a dead Prime at the quarry, seeing him with his own optics no less, was kinda hard to deny.

"Guess we'll have to find 'em and ask, won't we?"

* * *

Drift had the amiable Backdraft take point as he, Windstorm, Slipstream, and Jetstorm followed a ways behind him. The biker didn't seem to mind the responsibility and he showed no outward concern or fear. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, walking along with a spring in his step and just on the verge of dancing along to some lively tune only he could hear. He couldn't help but be bewildered by him. Jetstorm and Slipstream walked along beside Drift, straining not to smile or laugh at him.

' _Strange one, this mech._ '

Windstorm thankfully was more his line of liking. He was busy mapping out corridors and chambers as they went, generating a usable map. Why he wasn't using the strange arm moving trance he had used on the tank Drift didn't quite understand. Perhaps the ship was simply too large for it to work? Charity and Bumblebee had both asked him about that on their return, and he'd caught a look at the medical report in passing: "data sight" the engineer termed it. While focused, he was able to see the world around him as purely data, not standard visual feed. Helped in his line of work apparently. Unfortunately it came with a painful side effect of migraines if he used it under pressure. Painful, annoying – but treatable at the end of the day.

Backdraft rounded a corner, then froze. Amber optics wide, he took a step back as if reeling. Slipstream and Jetstorm darted ahead with Drift to see what had caused this shift in behavior.

"Primus..." Drift breathed in horror. "Windstorm? The crew...They're..."

The engineer lowered the holo-map slowly building on his projector and came over. His own optics widened in horror.

Corpses. The hall was filled with them; Drift counted ten, his mini-cons counting the same. Each bore slash marks, stab wounds, and blaster shots. Long-dried Energon was pooled beneath them and splattered on the walls. It was like looking at a slaughterhouse. Even more horrifying was the other things of note on the walls, smeared in Energon: strange symbols. Two in total. One was smeared across a sealed door, the other on the wall.

"Slipstream, Jetstorm, check the chambers. See if you can find anything else that might tell us what happened here." said Drift.

Both mini-cons nodded and split off to investigate, albeit in a scared, understandably reluctant way. The other three mechs set about examining more closely the hallway itself. Drift himself investigated the bodies. Windstorm and Backdraft set about examining the odd symbols. The one on the door was smaller, rather resembling a pair of stylized horns in a way. The other looked like a strange version of the Decepticon crest, far more demonic in appearance, a pair of upside down crossed axes beneath it.

"You ever seen these symbols before, Windy? I don't recognize 'em." Backdraft said. He didn't say he got a bad vibe from the horned one – like a somebody-just-walked-over-his-grave kind of bad vibe. The place was already creeping him the heck out. Freaky symbols weren't helping.

"No. I know crests fairly well. I'll admit the one looks strikingly like the one used by Star Seekers in the past but there are many differences in the design. The other one I do not recognize at all. I've never seen anything quite like it before. I'll scan it for later examination. Perhaps Counterforce or Sentenza or even Bumblebee have seen it before. I rather doubt the Alchemor would have anything on file."

Suddenly the dim lighting turned red and loud slams of metal against metal were heard. Windstorm was all too familiar with the noise: bulkheads sealing. That couldn't mean anything good. Hard on that came the low roar of the nearest engine starting up – engine three according to his slowly forming blueprints and what he knew of Golden Age ship design. Uh oh. That meant Octopunch had beat them to the bridge already. Or else...had someone else turned the ship on?

"Guys! Someone's locking the ship down!"

"And reactivating it!" Drift commented sharply.

"Go! Go! Or we'll get locked in!"

The mini-cons rushed out at once and hooked back up to Drift. Transforming, the three mechs made to outrace the loud banging of the bulkheads drawing in from all sides. Windstorm took the lead. They needed to get to the bridge Windstorm shouted. From there, they could stop this...and find out what had happened to the ship and the crew.

* * *

Bumblebee drove as fast as he could, alone. Counterforce had been locked behind some bulkheads in a corridor while investigating a solitary corpse in the hall – a mech, short, stocky, possibly a navigator or guard he'd said – and that was as far as he'd got. Right when he'd been about to elaborate a bulkhead had slammed down behind him, and before he could get out another had slammed down in front of him. The cadet had yet to return from her forward scouting. He'd heard her shout echo down the corridors alongside the sounds of the bulkheads though – one of surprise and annoyance. He could only guess that she, too, had been trapped in a section of corridor, startled and unable to react in time. Soon after that he'd picked up faint sounds of an engine starting up.

It had been pretty clear then: someone had started locking down the ship and had started one of the engines up. His guess was Octopunch...but something about the cadet's cry had made it seem they might not be the only ones aboard. She'd sounded frightened, even a little alarmed. Or was he just imagining that now?

' _Why is it that we can never investigate anything without some kind of death trap or danger being involved?_ ' he thought. ' _Why can't we just look into something, investigate, get the info, and leave?_ '

He sped on. Part of him argued that would be too easy, and life was rarely so straightforward. Counterforce would probably have said something similar. Same went for mysteries involving crashed cargo ships millenia old filled with dead crew members who'd obviously been killed by the attackers, who were also conveniently unknown. This whole problem with the ship was just...bizarre. What in the world had happened? There was also no sign of Sentenza either, at least not that his group had found.

Behind him, the bulkheads were slamming down with increasing speed. Gunning his accelerator, he skidded to one side and made to slide around the corner and into the next corridor seamlessly...

And promptly barreled into someone. Someone big, green and black, also running as fast as he could, who yelped when he collided with him. More yelps followed the one. When the daze of the collision wore off, three familiar faces were looking at him.

"Grimlock! Charity! Sideswipe!"

They didn't bother greeting him. Sideswipe just shouted: "'Bee! Drive! We got company! And not the friendly kind!"

From further down the corridor came multiple howls and screams of anger. Corner rounded, the owners came into view. Bumblebee took one look at the dozen owners and made up his mind:

" _RUN!"_

* * *

 **Author's Note: Ah, frick it. I think this might be a three or four parter anywho. There's so much I can do with this it's not even funny!**

 **Also deciding to mix this up and make it very different from the actual episode. No Fix-It look-alikes here. I got an idea running. Another user on DA gave me a bit of an idea that I'm going to incorporate...forget who it was though. I'll have to go and look.**

 _Okay..for some reason I cannot see the latest reviews. I don't know why. Tried logging out and back in and nothing seems to be working?_

 _UPDATE: I sent an e-mail to support and it's still not been corrected been over the 72 hours since this started. So to the people who posted reviews on this chapter_ _–_ _I'm sorry but I just can't see them. I can see they're there via the number alone (went from 95-99) but I can't see the reviews themselves when I click the "reviews" link next to the title. So you may need to PM them to me so I can see them until this gets fixed. I love seeing what you guys think...but I can't see 'em!_


	26. Chapter 26: In Too Deep Part 4

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 26**

 _*Been watching too much Dark Souls lately..._

 _*Warning: Super long..._

* * *

Windstorm was relieved when his group made it to the still-intact bridge of the ship. It had obviously seen better days but the equipment and command consoles still looked operational. But the thing that caught their optics was the single body in the room, rusted from age and with wounds similar to the corpses in the corridor. A great-sword lay at his side, even more rusted than its owner, flaking blue stains on its long blade.

"Captain, I assume..." he muttered, more to himself than to the others. Something about the wounds was slightly different than the ones in the hall. They were... _cleaner._ Less savage. And the angle of entrance of the blade didn't quite match that of his being attacked. He was no medical examiner, but he had a pretty good idea of what had happened. Suicide. Rather than go down to the enemy, he'd taken his own life after...after what, exactly? He sensed he'd done something important.

Drift and his mini-cons remained by the sealed doors to ensure no sneaks came in to give them trouble. Backdraft merely wandered around the large chamber, flame-throwers at a low sizzle. He looked distinctly spooked which was interesting in itself. Something about the symbols perhaps? The body? Or was it a general feeling of anxiety?

"Backdraft, if you could help me open these floor panels I can access the communications array."

The biker jumped in spite of himself. "Hm? Oh, yeah. Sure thing, Windy."

Drift noticed them. He told Slipstream to assist them how he could. He and Jetstorm would continue defending the doors.

They set to work. Backdraft used his fires to melt the seams enough that they were malleable and could be wrenched up. Beneath the floor was an array of frayed but mostly intact circuitry and mechanical devices. Windstorm glanced over it with a learned optic before getting lost in his own personal element. He grabbed wires, examined them, had Backdraft carefully weld broken mechanisms into some semblance of working order. He was not intending a full repair – merely enough for the array to function. A full repair would take too much time, and with Octopunch running loose aboard the ship and Sentenza still missing, time was the enemy.

Of course, he wouldn't realize how truly wrong he was for another ten minutes.

He rose once he was satisfied. "Right. That should do it for communications. Now let's see if we can override the lock down protocols and get everyone together in one place. And I'll take a look at the sensor array while I'm at it."

The engineer went over to the control consoles and began fiddling with them. In doing so he also shut down the engine that had turned on during their trip here. From the readouts it looked like the other engines were operational and still held Energon to burn. A look at the readings of the primary sensor array reassured him somewhat. The ship had been brought down by a massive hit to its hull, and one of the engines had suffered some damage as well – not enough to blow it out but probably enough to down the vessel due to loss of altitude.

He was just about to test out if his repairs and fiddling were working when Drift let out a grunt of surprise. The three workers turned around in time to see him knocked over by an invisible force. His arms were grabbed and pinned behind him. A male voice spoke then:

"Autobots, you have two choices here. First, give control of the ship to me so I can get outta here. You could attack but your friend here would end up with a snapped neck and I leave you to the dozen killer Star Seekers now running around that offed the crew. They won't hurt me. I'm a Star Seeker myself, splinter group or no. I recognized the crest in the hall. But you guys? Don't think so. Your choice. You let me and the Seekers go or you all die. _All_ of you. They'll be here shortly after they've finished off your friends."

Jetstorm drew his nunchucks and tried to swing them at the invisible force pinning his teacher. He wound up being grabbed and suspended from the air. Then he was flung to the far side of the chamber where he impacted the wall with enough force to render him unconscious. Slipstream let out a cry of alarm and shared pain as he tried to run to his brother, but Windstorm held him back, drawing him close to protect him. Octopunch was not joking he hissed at him. They were not to provoke him in any way unless they wanted to lose Drift.

Like an unleashed wild fire the Altihexian whirled on the pirate: "Oi! Leave the minis outta this, pal!" Backdraft snarled, hefting his flame-throwers at the invisible target. His amber optics flared until it looked like they might burst into flame. "Or you're gonna find out just how hot these can get! _And_ how good my aim is!"

Before either party could react, Octopunch let out a strangled, choking cry, Energon spurting from his formerly invisible but now clarifying body. His neck now bore a tell-tale stab wound made by a blade. From the looks of it the blade was still there, too. Yet no one was seen to have attacked him. Without even thinking about it, Drift lugged the pirate off him – and in doing so sealed his fate. The bladed weapon presently impaled in his neck was keeping more Energon from spilling forth. His body having shifted from its original position, the unseen blade slipped free and glowing blue fluid began to spill from the wound. Realizing his mistake, Drift quickly put a hand over the wound to stem the flow, but it was coming too fast. Only a medic could save him now.

[Charity! Charity, if you can hear me, get to the bridge now! Our fugitive has been attacked!]

He could only pray that she got the message.

Octopunch fell, still choking. Still Drift kept a hand over his neck in what he felt would be in vain. Whoever had struck had struck the main _a'lik tmeo_ line. Unless Charity got here within the next three Earth minutes, Octopunch would die as he choked on his own life's blood. On an impulse he asked Backdraft to come over and see if he might be able to mend the wound with his fires. The biker came at once, but looked hesitant, admitting he'd never done something like this before. But to the pirate at their pedes their voices sounded garbled and faint.

The pirate alone heard a female voice hiss at him right into his audials, a strangely sweet, soothing voice but one as dark as the Pit:

" _Any who dares threaten myself or my allies will face Death. Any so foolish enough as to try to evade me will face Death. You cannot evade Death, fool, nor can you delay its arrival. So sayeth Death's harbinger. So sayeth the Nightdemon._ "

He understood his mistake then. He had attacked the wrong femme out there in the waters, and that femme was the dreaded Nightdemon herself. He had then been so foolish as to threaten and attack her allies. Now he was paying for both affronts.

" _Now if you will excuse me, I have others who must be taught a similar lesson. Try to stay alive, will you? I'd so hate to get in trouble over this._ "

* * *

Bumblebee's centuries as a War scout enabled him to analyze targets with nothing more than a few seconds glance to work from. That split astrosecond hesitation before he fled the scene with his group were more than enough to analyze and speculate off.

The single femme hurtling down the corridor behind his group was not a Decepticon. He was sure of that much. The crest didn't match and 'Cons hadn't existed back in the Golden Age. The Decepticons had come about much later. The one in charge of them, a femme with a half jet, half helicopter vehicle form, bore that a crest plus another that looked like stylized horns – horns his mind and spark together recognized after brief recollections, and it filled him dread and horror. He knew who they obeyed then. But he wanted to make sure. So he kept analyzing what he'd seen, heard, and still heard as he drove.

Her words as they had fled had been more illuminating. She had ordered her eleven other followers to split off and search for survivors, and to kill them should they find any. She had said that the "Dark One" commanded it. That had been the most informative of her words. Megatron had not existed in the Golden Age, only Megatronus the gladiator and former miner. The Grey Ghost had not existed then, either. He knew of only one other being with those distinctive horns. That meant these were followers of Unicron, or at the very least their leader was associated with him in some way. They might follow her the same way crew followed a captain and simply carry out her grisly orders. From the way they'd obeyed without question he suspected that was the case.

They had to get off this ship. Now. Sabotage be slagged. Windstorm needed to blow this thing to high heaven or they'd all be killed – plus anyone else these maniacs came across if they reached the surface.

"I'll kill you, Light followers! Kill all of you! There will be no Light on this ship or this world when my crew is done!" screamed the femme.

"We're gonna die! We're so gonna die!" shrieked Sideswipe.

"Just keep driving!" snapped Bumblebee. "Get to the bridge!"

"What about Strongarm and Counterforce?" Charity demanded. Bumblebee had found them alone. There had been no sign of them.

Grimlock skidded to a halt at that. He rounded on the approaching femme and stood his ground like an impassible wall with fangs. The others screeched to a stop as well, confounded. Was the Dinobot mad?

"What are you doing?!" they demanded.

"Find the others! Get 'em to the bridge and find a way to blow this thing to bits! I'll hold her off!" he said.

"No! Grimlock, you're hurt!" protested the medic. "You'll die if you go up against her!"

Bumblebee was torn between listening to the Dinobot for sake of time and arguing with him like there was no tomorrow. This attacker and her crew were dangerous in a way he couldn't possibly imagine. Going up against this captain femme was brash even for him. Injured as he was he stood no chance no matter how strong the rest of his frame was. The femme would take advantage of that. But if they wasted time here that left the others vulnerable to her crew.

He was stunned further when Charity, in what seemed to be protective anger, dashed towards Grimlock and the approaching femme. Sideswipe shouted at her to stop, asking then what the Pit she thought she was doing. He dashed forward to try and stop her. The approaching attacker, snarling like a wild animal and then laughing darkly, aimed her mini-guns and opened fire on the red mech mercilessly. Grimlock flung himself in the path of the energy shots to defend them both, absorbing them like a sponge soaked in water. Howling in annoyance, the femme flier flew in closer.

"Grim!" Bumblebee shouted.

"Go! I got this!"

The Dinobot set about proving it to him. When the flier swooped past to flank him he snapped out with his fanged jaws and clamped down on her starboard wing hard enough to wrinkle and rupture the metal. The unknown femme let out a scream of pain as the fangs dug deeper. Energon began leaking out of the wing. Growling, he slammed her against the floor and planted a massive pede on her. She didn't move, and her optics were shuttered. The purple accents and horn crest on her chest flickered.

"I got this." he repeated. "Go get the others and get 'em to the bridge. We'll meet you there."

Hesitation brimming in his expression, Bumblebee left them. Within about fifteen seconds his yellow and black form had vanished down another corridor.

Sideswipe approached the down flier, blade drawn. No way this fight was over that easy. Some deep set coding was screaming at him to back away from her, and it wasn't instinct.

"Can you check her out, Charity? You're the medic. Is she really out? Me and Grim got your back."

The medic approached and gingerly set about examining the downed flier. She swept the scanner beam over her three times. The returning readings did seem to indicate that she was in fact unconscious. Perhaps being indisposed for as long as she had and lacking Energon to boost her strength had left her weakened and easier to incapacitate. Or she might be faking. Steeljaw had pulled a similar trick on the first night. Regardless, they needed to rendezvous with the others in the bridge and find a way to destroy the ship.

"But...what about Freaky Lady and her crew? I thought you were a paci-whatsit and hated fighting and killing." said Grimlock.

She sighed, hung her helm. Both mechs noticed her hands trembling. She said they didn't have enough stasis pods at the yard to hold them, she knew, and salvaging the ones here would take too much time and expose them to the attackers. She hated to say so, but it was a matter of priority and a matter of removing a possibly infectious disease. Basic rule of medicine was to never let an infection fester. It would get out of hand if given the chance. If they made it to the surface and joined Steeljaw...

Grimlock blinked. "Point. Still...not exactly an Autobot thing to do, is it? Seems more like what 'Cons durin' the War would do."

"Better to amputate before the infection spreads than let it grow worse and put the patient's life in danger." she said, voice shaking. "It's not my personal preference, but it's what needs to be done. These 'bots...they're sick. Something's wrong with them. I just...feel it. A darkness. And I don't think conventional medicine will remove it."

She kept examining the femme as if trying to find out what precisely was wrong with her. Sideswipe personally thought the flier was just totally bonkers and it was no more complicated than that. Anyone who commanded a bunch of murdering pirate vandals or whatever they really were couldn't be completely right in the helm. They sounded like some crazy cult to him.

Grimlock heard a sudden, sharp hiss of air come from the flier. Mere astroseconds later a hand shot up to grip the gentle medic's throat in a vice grip. The other hand held an energy cutlass to her chest. Charity let out a startled whimper as the hand constricted. Sideswipe tensed, pointed his blade at her in a warning. He reacted as only a Dinobot could – he lifted the pede he was using to pin her and slammed it down with titanic amounts of force. He bit down on the other wing for good measure, growling. Her grip on the medic's neck loosened as the noise of crushing mechanisms and warping metal met his audials. Charity was swiftly pulled free by Sideswipe. But Grimlock wasn't done. Nobody tried to off or hurt Charity on his watch. This freaky flier needed a message to last.

The flier let out a cry of pain when the Dinobot, with brutal savagery, yanked on the wing hard enough to tear it free...and then promptly she started laughing. Her red optics briefly flashed purple, and the blue Energon coming from her punctured wings darkened to indigo. The purple horn crest on her chestplates began glowing brighter.

"Oookaay?" the red mech managed. He held the smaller medic closer out of uncertainty. This...he didn't like this. It was making his mesh crawl. "All who think it's a good idea to run like hell, say I."

The Dinobot pulled back, spitting out the darker Energon that had seeped into his maw as if spitting out a toxin. Stuff suddenly tasted foul – bitter. Like battery acid but a hundred times more bitter. And even as he watched, the puncture wounds on her remaining began to slowly seal up. The gushing fuel from where her other wing used to be slowed to nothing more than a trickle.

Something wasn't right with this femme. Something was...unnatural. _Nobody_ healed that fast from a Dinobot attack or a torn off wing. Normal Energon didn't taste bitter either, and it wasn't dark indigo like hers was.

"I." he said.

They ran. Behind them came the hollow banging of Cybertronian footfalls in a fast walk.

* * *

Hank backed away from the white wolf until she felt herself hit a tree. Her heart was beating fast enough she seriously thought it might burst.

Zodiac was quick to act. Hank saw her fly over to the wolf in bird form and began speaking to it in an odd language of clicks, trills, keens, and whistles. One moment she sounded like a dolphin, the next like a hawk. She didn't pretend to know what she was saying, but whatever it was she was telling the wolf made it hesitate. It even stopped the warning growling and the liquid nitrogen trick it was pulling with its fangs. Its ears, previously flat, perked up. But it still looked confused, wary, and more than a tad territorial.

The human teen felt her phone buzz unexpectedly in her pocket. She was startled to see an incoming call from an unknown number. She looked at the wolf to find it watching her closely. She swiped the screen to answer. A voice met her right away:

" _What are you doing here, human?_ " It was an icy voice, well enunciated, and very much masculine. Sounded older than Zodiac's voice. Twenty-five or twenty-six, something like that? Politely suspicious, too. Suspicious all the same.

"I'm looking for Russell. He hasn't come to play football in almost a week. Came here to see if he's alright and wound up finding some of your prints in the dirt. You didn't eat him, did you?"

The wolf let out a low growl, ears pinning back. It looked distinctly offended to her as it took a step towards her. She tensed, realizing she'd asked the wrong question. Not thinking, she turned and tried to flee towards where she'd left her bike, scared. The ground shook lightly as the wolf gave chase. Its longer strides let it catch her up very easily, but it didn't lash out or try to eat her. It just jumped in front of her and blocked her path, no longer growling but with its ears back. She tried to run the other way. The wolf used its snout to gently knock her over. It loomed over her. Zodiac clacked her beak and bit its right ear, making it let out a whine. The bird had the most perfect disappointed sister look she'd seen in her life.

Then came a sound Hank was not expecting to hear: the loud purr of a high performance car's engine followed by the same sounds Zodiac made when she flipped from hawk to girl to hawk.

"Frostbite! Heel! Leave the kid alone!" shouted a new voice. This one sounded around the same age as the wolf but was warmer in tone. "She's harmless!"

All three of them whipped around. Hank's eyes widened.

At the edge of the clearing in the direction of the scrapyard stood a titan of blue and yellow metal. One hand held a giant pistol. From the expression alone she judged it was not happy with the metal wolf's behavior. That wasn't what caught her eye though. Honestly, the metal animals were stranger. No. It was the someone sitting on said titan's shoulder that got her attention: a boy in a blue hoodie and jeans. And the said someone stared back at her in surprise.

" _Hank?!_ "

" _Russell?!_ What the heck's going on here?! What's with all the shape-shifter robots?!" she cried.

The blue and yellow titan lowered the weapon with a soft groan of: "Oh, man. 'Bee is so gonna kill me for this when he gets back." His voice then rose to standard speaking volume. "Look, you come back with us and you'll get your answers. Wandering around in the woods is not safe right now. But you gotta promise not to tell anyone about this. No telling the police, the authorities, friends – zip."

Hank considered. Her answer came almost right away.

"Deal."

" _P_ _ermit me to give you a lift._ " said the wolf, apparently named Frostbite, over her phone. " _Least I can do for scaring you. Friend of Russell's is a friend of mine._ "

He knelt down and helped her up on his back with a few nudges of his snout. Hank was surprised to feel heat coming from his body. She'd been expecting it to be as icy cold as his voice. Asking why that was was shoved to the back burner as the wolf broke into a smooth run, forcing her to hang on or fall. Any fear she'd been feeling before was long gone. Now, curiosity burned like a bonfire.

* * *

During Bumblebee's search someone had began messing with the lock down protocols and had led them right to the bridge. He had sensed Windstorm's expert hand, and that meant he had control of the ship now. But he hadn't found Strongarm, and that worried both of them. Bumblebee and Counterforce reached the bridge to be met with a grisly site:

Octopunch lay on the ground, a gash wound on his neck. Under Drift's instructions, Backdraft was in the midst of trying to use his flame-throwers to weld the injury. They looked to be managing, and he was frankly relieved that he was still picking up a spark signal from the pirate. Guilty as he was of mechslaughter it was not the Autobot way to kill, nor was that the mission at hand. Judging from the shape of the wound itself they had a horrible, sinking suspicion they knew who had attacked him, and it meant she was on the ship, perhaps even in this room.

"What happened?" he asked regardless.

The bounty hunter and the biker told him in turns. He did his best not to frown or say who was the culprit. While Backdraft looked pretty aware of who had attacked Octopunch, no one could trust Drift with the information just yet. If Sentenza was revealed as the Nightdemon, she might wind up in prison for the rest of her life – or worse, executed.

Windstorm, Slipstream, and Jetstorm were busy trying to puzzle out how to sabotage the engines from the looks of the inventor's holo-display. He left Drift and Backdraft to tell them of the mission update: destroy the ship rather than sabotage it. When he did say so, Windstorm looked surprised and even somewhat offended at his words. His helm lifted in indignation.

"Blow the ship up? You'd best have a good reason to have me destroy such a fine piece of engineering, damaged though it may be. Rendering the engines useless would keep the ship grounded. That's what we wanted, yes? To keep it down here in a state where none could use it? Why blow it to pieces?"

"Because there's a dozen murderous pirates aboard that want us dead who seem to be part of some kind of Unicron cult." he explained exasperatedly. "They're who killed the crew. I think their leader takes orders direct from Mr. Helmet Horns himself, or at least she sure as the Pit thinks she does. Would you rather they get to the surface and eradicate anything in their way, possibly even join up with Steeljaw, or would you rather bury them along with the ship, never to do harm to anyone or anything again?"

The engineer seemed ready to argue but then seemed to think better of it. Any protests withered and died as the possibilities of their escape sank in. Beside him, Counterforce blinked. He appeared to be arguing with himself within his mind while trying to analyze what the other mech had just said.

"But...we're Autobots, lieutenant. We don't kill. By killing them we're no better than they are." Slipstream argued.

"Slipstream, I've dealt with enemies like this before – well, technically one enemy who reanimated a bunch of corpses both on Earth and on Cybertron, but that's beside the point here. We let them get out, we basically doom the whole planet. If you thought the convicts were hassle enough it'll get a thousand times more difficult if we let these twelve out. And besides, even if we did drag them out with us, where would we keep them? We don't have spare pods and it'd take too long to salvage the ones in here."

Drift eyed him. "We'd still be guilty of killing twelve individuals who are technically unaligned. It is my task as a Council Hunter to convey any information of import to them. You asked me to update them when I returned. This would count as important. How would you argue this to them?"

Backdraft remained curiously silent as he finished up the weld on Octopunch's neck. But the whole time he'd been listening. Now, his gaze jerked up to see how Bumblebee might answer back. It was an interesting moral dilemma going on here. Was killing a dozen pirates any better than the pirate's acts of killing an entire cargo freighter's crew? Should they let them live and risk horrible repercussions in the future, or remove them and thus a significant threat? Did they have any jurisdiction to go deciding who lived and who died? If they did, did that extend to prisoners not of the Alchemor?

Bumblebee didn't answer. He simply looked guilty – guilty, pained, and even scared...but firm.

Silence in the chamber until:

"But how did these mechs and their leader survive while the rest of the crew died? The stasis pods we saw while examining the ship were all empty and looked like they hadn't been used for a long time." Jetstorm said. "None of the crew was in them either. At least not that we found."

Everyone looked to Counterforce. As a homicide investigator this sort of question was right up his alley. He looked confused.

"Windstorm, are they any logs in the ship's mainframe? Captain's logs, medical ones, navigator's? Maybe our vic left a message?"

The engineer obliged by delving into the mainframe for data, admitting he'd been more focused on repairs than research, and Octopunch's attack had thrown everyone in here off balance. He found a log, labeled PRIORITY, the last one made before system failure, and displayed it on the ship's flickering holo-screen. Much of the data had been corrupted from time and damage, but it was legible enough to connect the dots. It read:

 _I'll leave formalities aside. Damn it all, we */$fd have (/' time. Got /^ & a breem afore we crash. Whoever finds this message, search party or looter, I'll say the same: Get off this ship. There's evil aboard and wijeo#g%nwl% allow it to exit. qpw !jifowng killed my whole crew aside from (ERROR) and myself, and I've the feeling we won't make it off either. I'm not $%& them. I'll make sure these monsters go down with us and take jpwnegw^&fwonif. W**= give 'em the jqeihgjow.  
_

 _~My ship shall become a tomb and a prison. Primus willing, it'll stay that way for all time._

 _Don't gjelie!ngfow% them from their icy sleep. Save yourself and c#nsobv()ks. You'll find naught but death here.  
_

 _*Gloomweaver, Captain of the Void Piercer._

Once more all gazes went to Counterforce. He read and re-read the missive one, two, three, four times. Then he knelt to examine to body and the great-sword that lay at its side. It was quick and conclusive.

"Ran himself through. Didn't want the enemy to get the satisfaction of taking him out. Honorable suicide. When he says 'icy sleep' in this message I think that means he somehow flooded certain parts of the ship with cryo-gases to knock the invaders out. Might explain how well preserved everything is. My guess is he had his crew corral them as live bait into those sections. He was willing to entomb his own crew and himself to keep them in cryo-sleep. Shows we're dealing with very dangerous people." He sighed. "Bumblebee's right, Drift. We'll adhere to the captain's last wishes. Windstorm, rig the ship to blow and contact Fix-It for a groundbridge if you can. It's not worth lives. Once we're all here, we'll 'bridge out. Er, communications to the outside _are_ working now, right?"

Nodding, the engineer began his tasks. He opened up a communications channel and prayed his repairs held.

"Fix-It? If you read me, we need you on stand-by for emergency evac. We have a very dangerous problem on our hands."

* * *

Strongarm carefully wandered the corridors, her Hunter out. She'd heard shouts and screams earlier, and she'd heard eerie laughter not even a few breems ago. This was way more than a cadet was supposed to be exposed to and handling.

Her yelp earlier had been because of two things. Firstly had been the bulkheads. Secondly had been an invisible someone grabbing her from behind and yanking her into a side chamber. A voice had hissed at her to stay down and stay quiet. And so she had – because she'd recognized it. Sort of. She knew who had grabbed her just from the voice print alone. It was both good news and bad news at the same time.

Sentenza.

The voice though. Sentenza's voice was distinct – lower toned, a faint Kaonian accent, and with a faint rasp in the background. She'd never heard the Nightdemon speak, not truly, but Sentenza's voice then had been very different. It had still been lower toned but the rasp had been far more noticeable. It had been like hearing a snake talk. She considered herself fortunate that the Nightdemon obviously considered her an ally. But how long would that last down here? If Unicron was influencing her, how long before she started attacking allies?

She heard engine noises as she went down another corridor. When she got near the noise died very abruptly, and there was a choked scream. That cut off abruptly, too. Strongarm peered around the corner in time to see a stranger mech with an odd crest on his shoulder fall to the ground, grasping at his neck as Energon burbled out of a wide gash. She watched as an invisible blade pierced his spark chamber. He went still. Then she felt the tip of an energy pistol contact the back of her helm. She stiffened.

"No. Sudden. Moves." hissed a new voice. Male print. Not the Nightdemon.

Strongarm did not move. She felt the pistol pushed further against her helm.

"You kill my fellow crew mates, I kill you. Your spark will make a fine prize for the Dark One."

The pistol was suddenly yanked away without warning. She felt a faint rush of air as something unseen was swung very near her helm. She tensed, sensing what was about to happen and not looking forward to it. The holder gave a cry of agony and she felt still-warm Energon spatter against her. Gurgling, the armed stranger fell. Once more was a spark chamber pierced by an unseen blade. Once more did a writhing frame go still.

"S-Sentenza? Detective? Are you here? I-Is that you?" she managed to stammer out. She tried her best to not shiver or get sick. This was too much to deal with. Too much gore. Too much death. Her Kaonian designation of _Raeqerlth Dlokze –_ Death Bringer – suddenly seemed very, very fitting.

The air shimmered to reveal the black Seeker, her frame stained with foreign fuel. There was a leaking wound on her helm that looked like something blunt with a sharp tip had been slammed against it. Something was up with her optics though. Rather than standard Predacon yellow, they were deep red. But every astrosecond or so they'd flicker back to their standard hue. She was fighting her dark half, fighting Him. Good. Good sign.

"Come." Just one word and a motion of the hand before she started off. But it had been the Nightdemon's voice, not Sentenza's. So she hesitated. Dare she trust someone this violent, this dangerous? Bumblebee had assured her the Nightdemon was not a danger so long as she considered someone an ally, having heard it from Counterforce himself, and she obviously did by saving her life. But again, how long would that last? She might turn at the slightest provocation.

Sentenza paused to look back at her. Her optics flickered. Yellow. "Come on." she repeated. Her optics flickered. Red. "I have no quarrel with you, cadet. We are allies, not enemies. At the very least you are not even a viable threat to me. Now come. We must leave. This is no place for Light walkers."

* * *

The group on the bridge jumped and drew their weapons when doors burst open. Grimlock. Charity, and Sideswipe scampered in, exhausted and scared. No one was exactly reassured to see the Dinobot's maw had a few drips of indigo-colored Energon on it, nor were they reassured to see that his limp was more pronounced than ever. He could barely stand upright.

Charity, on spotting the downed Octopunch, rushed to his side to tend to him. Backdraft had been thinking smartly. She saw his handiwork with the weld. It wasn't a clean one, but it had probably saved his life. That mech was just full of surprises.

"Crazy femme – wants to kill us – right on our tail. Seal the door. Please get us out of here _NOW._ " Sideswipe gasped. He became more fluent as the performance enhancing chemicals diluted in his system. "Also, somebody's been busy. In the hall. Passed a dead pirate cultist or whatever they are. Neck wound and spark chamber stab."

Counterforce frowned. So Sentenza was on board. And the Nightdemon personality was in control. Hopefully she was fighting it and understood that to drive it away she needed light – needed it badly. Why she needed it so badly here made more sense with Bumblebee's revelation. A dark entity like Unicron despised light. No wonder he'd recoil when exposed to his light talent through the Nightdemon. He only hoped he had enough light left to be of help. If the Nightdemon came in here and saw that She hadn't finished Her kill, She might try again.

As if in prophetic answer, the now sealed doors gave a low drone of sound. Someone wanted in.

"Who is it?" Bumblebee demanded warily. He hefted his Hunter, aiming it squarely at the doors.

"Strongarm, sir!" came the reply. "Sentenza's with me."

The doors duly unsealed and permitted the two entrance, then were sealed once more. Any raised weapons were lowered. Shocked expressions met the last remaining team members. The Seeker was absolutely bathed in fresh, indigo-colored Energon and her optics were dark red – and focused on Octopunch. Strongarm had a few spatters of the fresh fuel as well. She looked disturbed but a scan from Charity showed both of them to be he unharmed, though the Seeker bore a nasty looking helm wound. The fuel bespoke of the cadet having been very near Sentenza when she'd made a kill. Drift looked at them curiously, focus evenly split between them and the doors. Was this the Seeker's secret? He could understand now their reluctance to tell him about it.

Knowing Sentenza, and knowing the Demon on Cybertron, Counterforce guessed she'd probably tried to protect Strongarm, not harm her. So far as he had been told, the Demon had never targeted an Autobot. Of course, the rules for the Demon's actions seemed to be different here...

Counterforce approached. The Seeker caught the movement and stared at him through her crimson gaze. He raised his scimitar in one hand while he held the other out as if asking her to remain still. Everyone saw her flinch at the golden glow each produced as if struck. Everyone saw her optics brighten to a pale orange. The Praxian didn't have enough photons to fully drive it into remission as he had in the past, but it was enough for Sentenza to be in control of the Demon, not vice versa.

"Thanks." she rasped. She looked at herself and shuddered. No way was she powering down without nightmares tonight, photoharp assistance or not.

"Fix-It, do you read? Everyone's here. Get a 'bridge to my location." Windstorm said into the now functioning communications array.

[I – you. One moment. – to stabilize the mag – field.]

"Blast." he cursed. "I thought I'd mended the static on our end. At least he can hear us well enough." He fiddled with the array and controls further.

He flicked a few switches and hit a few dim, flickering holo-keys on the command console. A timer in Cybertronian numerals appeared, swiftly counting down. Drift and Grimlock plainly heard him whimper as he condemned the ship, it's slain crew, and the surviving fiends to a fiery end. He didn't want to destroy it or them, but they had no choice. If these strange pirates escaped, it was game over for everyone. Gloomweaver had understood that, and he and his entire crew had perished to keep them imprisoned. The Void Piercer had become a tomb for the crew and an icy prison for the pirates.

And someone had woken them up.

Banging began on the doors, mingled with the _schrrings_ of blades being slashed against it. A ragged female voice hissed and shouted from the other side in a dialect long forgotten, the untranslatable words harsh and gutteral.

"Your mad pursuer, Sideswipe?" Drift guessed.

"No, it's Ultra Magnus." the red mech shot back sarcastically. "Who the Pit else do you think it is, genius?!"

"Sideswipe." Charity shot back sharply. "Fear gives no right to fling harsh words around. That door is thick. She won't get through in an instant."

A klik later and an energy blade pierced the thick metal of the doors. Then another joined it. Both began to carve through it as fast as the metal and the user's strength and will permitted – which was unnaturally fast. Grimlock snarled and stomped towards the door only to let out a pained noise, stagger, and nearly fall. Stubbornly he tried to rise and keep walking, but he couldn't. The leg hurt too much now, felt like someone was shooting him with a shotgun whenever he put the slightest amount of weight on it. Charity darted forward, pleading with him to stay down.

"Fix-It! Where's that 'bridge?!" Bumblebee demanded. He guesstimated they had about ten or twelve kliks before the mad pursuer carved herself enough of an opening to simply wrench the doors free. He knew they wouldn't stop her. They'd only delay her.

Things went from bad to worse when blaster fire and the pounding of a blunt force weapon joined the carving blades. The doors creaked and groaned in protest but refused to yield to the onslaught. That the door was holding as well as it was was miraculous in it of itself. But still the groundbridge did not appear. Sentenza let out a low growl and drew her scythe. Her optics flashed darker orange. Counterforce put a hand on her arm and found her mesh to be ice cold. They brightened, but she kept her scythe out. Still no groundbridge appeared. The assault on the doors kept on, and the metal groaned and bent dangerously. Anxiety began to sweep through the group. The timer ticked inevitably down.

"We're gonna die, we're gonna die! We are _so_ gonna die!" Sideswipe panicked.

Then, finally, one opened in the center of the chamber.

"Go! In! Take Octopunch, too!" barked Bumblebee. "Drift, Strongarm, Counterforce, help me get Grim through!"

The three Autobots helped the Dinobot to his pedes, letting him distribute a portion of his weight onto them to keep weight off the injured leg. They made it inside just as the doors gave way, creaking and falling with a resonating bang. Enraged at her quarries escaping, the lead femme hurled her two energy cutlasses at the closing portal. Grimlock, Bumblebee, and Strongarm did not see something knock the weapons off course, something like a little tendril of light. Counterforce and Drift did sense...something, though they knew not what it had been. And then the portal snapped shut.

None of them witnessed the tendril be joined by others of its kind. They never saw them take up guard near the countdown timer, three of them frying the controls with a touch. Now the timer could not be stopped. One tendril took shape, revealing it to be a ghostly mirror of the corpse in the bridge. The mech was grinning in grim triumph.

"Been waitin' an eternity for this, glitch. You want the dark so bad? You're about to be sent to the darkest place in creation."

"Captain!" cried one of the pirate mechs. He pointed wildly at the countdown timer on the flickering holo-screen. The femme's violet optics widened in shock.

"Shut it down! Shut it down!" she cried.

A pirate ran forward. Desperately he tried to stop the countdown. "Can't, cap'n! Someone's gone n' fried the controls! They're useless! No way we make it off on time!"

The femme whirled on the specter. "Slag you to the Pit!" she spat.

The specter retorted calmly: "Actually, that'd be you. When you meet him, tell your boss hello. And that after waiting nearly three hundred million stellar cycles – _we win_."

A loud roar engulfed them all, living and dead. Fire sizzled, popped. Debris both metallic and rocky flew every which way. When it settled, there was almost nothing left of the ship aside from scorched, twisted scrap metal. There wasn't even much left of the pirates. Battered body parts lay around like so much loose change. Indigo-colored Energon swept around in the deep ocean currents. Above it all, a cluster of shimmering tendrils wafted. Faint notes only they could hear soon met them. They sang back in joyous relief. A brightness enveloped them and in a flash of golden-white light the tendrils disappeared.

Having nothing left to guard, having finished their mission, the crew of the Void Piercer could go home.

* * *

 **Author's Note: God this is a long chapter and a while in coming. Sorry for the delay - had a bit of a minor cold/stomach bug these past couple days. No biggie but I've felt like absolute crap. Getting over it finally though. Hope this'll keep you guys busy while I get another chapter of Fire and AA finished!**


	27. Chapter 27: Aftershock

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 27**

 _*_ _Okay, there's something I need to address here before it happens again, because so far it's happened at least once on each of my NotB related stories:_

 _I don't do this for reviews or even as a job or anything. I write as a stress reliever and a fun means of passing the time. This is for my enjoyment as much as you guys'. The one criticism I have with RiD is the washed out, fairly inconsistent story. I'm also building on lore and re-interpreting it to fit with the universe I'm building here. This is my means of correcting it and making it more Prime-like. And since there's an unstable Nightdemon on the cast now, things are bound to get a little horror-esque-y like they did with the 4-parter I just finished. Also, I do not use the comics, the novel, or the Covenant for lore. I only use the cartoons. That gives me creative licence. This is the **umpteenth** time I've repeated this. _

_I'm also very sensitive as I'm a shy person naturally. So when posting reviews people, please be courteous if you're going to be constructively critical of my work. I'm okay with swearing but please_ _–_ _please don't be rude. There's a difference between **criticism** , **constructive criticism** , and just plain **whining**. I: If you don't like it, don't review and just stop reading. I do listen to the fans if they have suggestions, but I also don't do fan-pandering __–_ _meaning if you want your OC in my story, there's a 99% it ain't gonna happen. I know my characters best. Let me have my fun with them. I am taking a concept from another artist on DA, but I have his permission. This is not about the OCs. This is about plot, character, and lore._

 _My characters. My ideas. MY story. (Except for the concept I'm gonna be using. The artist has let me use it since I'm only using the concept, not any of his characters, and I am tweaking it quite a bit to fit with my story/universe, which he's also okay with. I'm not copying it per say_ _–_ _just using it and having a little fun with it.) I can do what I want with it so long as credit is given to him for the concept._

 _Thank you,  
MiniKoontzy_

 _*rant over* On with the story!_

* * *

"Okay. Next question: You guys are machines. Living machines. Machines have to have a fuel source or power source or something. You can't just run on nothing. Not how that works. What do you even run on?"

Hank was enjoying being the interrogator of the machines. Well, technically alien machines. That was the coolest bit. She was talking to real life aliens.

She'd found out names already: Smokescreen, Frostbite, Fix-It, and of course Zodiac. She already knew Russell and Denny, but now she knew they were housing the aliens on their property since a part of some giant spaceship had crashed there – and they really had no place else to go. They needed a base of operations to catch a bunch of super dangerous escaped alien prisoners, which said ship had been carting around, and they didn't want to go scaring the native population with their size and scary alien weaponry. So Denny had generously opened his door to them even if they caused the occasional bit of damage to his collection. He wasn't about to kick them into the sewers or something. There were other aliens too but she'd been told right away they were busy on a mission, though she was promised they'd be back soon and she could interrogate them then.

"Oh! We run off Energon." Fix-It answered like that explained everything.

Hank gave him a blank, curious stare. Russell hid a smile while Denny rolled his eyes. He then proceeded to smack a hand to his face and shake his head. Fix-It was not exactly an expert when it came to the old game of Twenty Questions.

Frostbite rose, gently scooching Hank out from between his paws. He trotted over to behind the spaceship command center thing and disappeared. Seconds later he returned with a glowing blue cube about four feet six inches in height. He set it down in front of her, watching her closely. She looked at it curiously, then drew closer to get a better look at it. She realized the cube, made of a slightly see-through material, was nothing more than a holder. Inside was a glowing blue fluid that from what she could see had the same thickness as water, maybe a little bit thicker. She reached out only to hear Frostbite growl, thus making her hand jerk back instinctively. The wolf looked peaceful but his ears were back and his fangs were ever so slightly bared. Hank knew a warning when she saw one.

"Uh, yeah. Word to the wise for you, Hank: Energon is not for touching or consumption for anyone other than Cybertronians. 'Kay?" Smokescreen said. "No touchie, no drinkie. We don't know what it does to humans. Well, I mean, we sorta do cause we know you guys have really funny reactions to the stuff when its redirected and fired from –"

"Whoa, hang on. Rewind. You guys _drink_ this stuff?" she demanded, pointing at the cube. "It's like food for you?"

"I...guess you could say that?" Zodiac managed from her perch atop the command center. "In human terms it'd be kinda strange to have a food or fuel source pumping through your circulatory system, but that's also the case. Blood and fuel all rolled into one very efficient package. Same double concept applies to our sparks. Power core and heart into one. I won't get into all the spirit-y business surrounding it 'cause that would take the better portion of half an hour to explain right. And that'd just be the abridged version. There's whole volumes on the subject back home."

Hank stared at her. Spirit-y business? This just kept getting more and more interesting! The alien machines had some kind of religious or spiritual beliefs surrounding their power cores? That was so cool! Even artificial life forms could come up with the concept! It was complicated, too! She had to wonder _how_ complicated if it would take Zodiac half an hour to explain it as simply as possible. Maybe she was just over-estimating to take questions into account? There was no way to know for sure until she did decide to elaborate on the subject, and that would probably take time. You didn't go babbling about topics like that after just meeting somebody.

"Okay. One last question: Why do Zodiac and Frostbite look like animals while you and Fix-It look more like, y'know, metal people? How come they turn into animals and you turn into a car, Smokescreen?"

Smokescreen grinned. He answered quickly:

"Oh! that's easy. 'Zee and Frosty here are Predacons – beast-formers. She's an Avioid and he's a Canipid if you wanna get specific. I personally think they're super cool but the Council...they don't like 'em. See 'em as dangerous wild animals I guess that live outside their laws. I don't blame the poor guys. A lot of the laws in place kind of – well, they discriminate against them, so they avoid the cities and don't easily trust the 'bots living in them. Still, a few like 'Zee live in the city no problem. But 'Zee's kind of an exception. She's not big, she's not temperamental (not really) and she's _dead_ scared of people. Never sticks around others long enough for them to start jeering or jabbing at her. She also has the _entire_ CERF behind her _plus_ the Sky Painters. So anyone who goes messin' with her is gonna have a _very_ bad day."

Hank stared up at him. "Wait. There's some kind of civil problem with them? Like our whole issue with African-Americans and Native Americans and stuff? They're some kind of minority? Why? They seem like nice people to me. Only difference I see is they just look different."

The answer to her question was doomed to wait a while. Two things happened almost back-to-back that forestalled any further questions. First, the command center made a weird noise, drawing the orange mini-con's attention. On a holographic screen was displayed the frequency she'd seen Zodiac researching. Beside it was alien text. Over the frequency was a red line cutting diagonally across. Hank didn't pretend to know the language, but that looked an awful lot like a failed search on the internet in a way.

"Huh. Now _that's_ odd..." Fix-It murmured.

"What is it?" asked Russell. The three humans darted up into the command center for a better look. Zodiac followed, perching on the command console in her humanoid form.

"I had the Alchemor run a comparative analysis of the beacon signal. Well, it just finished...and no matches were found. Not even any close matches. Normally that wouldn't warrant any confusion. It _is_ coming from a Golden Age beacon and there aren't many of those around any more. But the Alchemor has a database of frequencies both modern and ancient. That it didn't find _anything_ concerning this..." He turned to the intelligent Avioid. "Zodiac, you said you overheard chatter concerning a signal like this or at least something relating to it. What precisely was said? Do you remember now, even slightly?"

She thought for a moment. Then: "I wasn't really paying attention to it at that time. I was at the docks, I remember that. Lots of noise. Great place to people watch. I remember overhearing a few crew members of a scout ship chattering, but with all the other noise and conversations going on it was hard to single out the words. One word I think I do remember was 'disappear.' 'Course, that could relate to any number of things. Disappearing cargo, disappearing equipment, disappearing data, disappearing crew members (it happens) or, Primus forbid, an entire ship disappearing. We don't like talking about it...but ships have disappeared even in this modern day and age. Some completely. No one's ever found out what happened to them. I mean, the _Intervention_ got attacked by spark eaters while I was playing navigator for them one time, but we made it back alright. It didn't vanish off the map or anything. We just needed some repairs."

"You think that may have happened here? The hauler got attacked, sank, and disappeared off the radar?" Smokescreen hazarded.

Fix-It hemmed thoughtfully, admitting that Windstorm had said the ship certainly looked as if it had been attacked. It wasn't beyond belief. Still, many pirate frequencies were in the Alchemor's database as were those produced by spark eaters. Neither had come up. So perhaps they were dealing with something entirely foreign.

"Maybe the beacon is some sorta cryptic warning, then? I mean, you said it kinda mimicked the frequency of a red giant – and mimicking the swan song of a star isn't exactly the most welcoming thing ever dreamed up. I'm no astronomer and even I can tell you that. Funny that they chose that specifically if they were a hauler crew. Don't normally peg haulers as having enough of a knack for astronomy that they can pretty well recreate a star's death song artificially. They must've had a navigator but knowing how to work that sort of EM magic isn't really a requirement for the job."

"Guess we won't know till Windstorm and the others get back." Russell said. "That's assuming any of them even know the answer. They might not've found the beacon or not been able to get it."

"That may be the case." Fix-It told him. "Windstorm's last communication with me revealed that everyone is rendezvousing in the wreck's bridge for some reason requiring emergency evac at once. He didn't mention finding or retrieving the beacon. Something's got them all spooked I think, but he didn't say what."

Denny frowned. Now that was strange, even stranger than the weird beacon frequency from the unknown. That guy loved to explain things to the letter. So why the sudden bout of scientific silence then? What had scared an entire team of giant aliens with advanced weaponry into holing up in the bridge of a wrecked ship?

A voice, British in accent, male, and garbled by static, spoke up:

" _Fix-It? Everyone's here. Get a groundbridge to my location._ " Though well concealed, it was easy to catch the hitch of alarm in the voice.

Fix-It wasted no time. He brought up a holographic display screen. On it was a frequency that matched the one Zodiac had been looking at when Hank had found her. There were also a bunch of the crests the aliens wore on their bodies. all clustered together to the point where they were overlapping. Hank could only assume they were signals coming from the other aliens. Were they like locator beacons or something? Or were the signals coming from their weird alien power cores? If it were the second that just attested how powerful the power cores were – or it could be proof that the scanners looking for them were just crazy powerful. They were over near Puerto Rico it looked like. Dang.

"Zodiac, I need you to make sure the magnetic containment field is stable. I can't do that wirelessly. I'm having trouble locking onto their signals." said the mini-con quickly. "It's not as easy as it looks. There's some kind of interference making it harder to lock on – not impossible, just harder."

The Avioid nodded and glided over to the star-gate thing. Hank followed her, curious. Fix-It made it seem the arch was some kind of teleporter and man had she always wanted to see teleportation work in the real world. Why an arch that looked like a star-gate, though? What had Fix-It called it – a "groundbridge?" She watched Zodiac meddle with the control panel, witnessing the odd readings on the screen seem to fight against said meddling. A growl escaped her metal throat and she became a bit more aggressive in her tactics.

" _Fix-It? Where's that 'bridge?!_ " demanded a new voice that sounded distinctly American. The anxiety in this male voice was much more noticeable. Heck, it wasn't even anxiety to her ears – it was near flat-out panic.

"One moment, please. We're having a bit of trouble with the magnetic containment field."

Fix-It had to hope it went through. He could hear Windstorm fine on his end but he didn't know whether or not the engineer and the others could hear him as well. The engineer hadn't said otherwise.

"Zodiac!" urged the mini-con.

"I'm doin' the best I can here! I'm an astronomer, not an engineer!" she snapped back.

"Hey. Cool it, 'Zee. No need to get snippy with him." Smokescreen scolded lightly. He knew personally she always got a bit short of temper when under pressure, particularly when doing something she wasn't exactly well versed in. The pressure was the biggest contributor though.

She winced and apologized. After a klik of awkward silence she told him the field was within bounds and stable. He could open a 'bridge now no problem, but he should probably be quick about it. Windstorm was _not_ joking when he described the groundbridge's systems as finicky. She didn't know how long she could keep it in check. Even now it was fighting her. If she didn't know any better she'd say somebody was wirelessly messing with it somehow.

Fix-It did not waste time and keyed in the necessary command. Hank watched in awed astonishment as the arch rumbled and roared to life. Inside the arch a swirling tunnel of turquoise green energy yawned open, slowly spinning and writhing around its mouth. This wasn't teleportation she realized. This was something way more complicated and amazing. She'd read enough science fiction to know what she was looking at: a wormhole, a literal tunnel through space and time. These aliens had managed to come up with the technology to open freaking wormholes! How cool was this?! It was real, not science fiction! Oh! but were they artificial or were they the real deal? She'd totally have to ask. Both were technically possible according to science.

From out of it came a whole flurry of colorful metal people ranging in size Zodiac's height to taller than Smokescreen, bewildering Hank completely. Colors went up and down the spectrum, from reds to yellows to greens, golds, and blacks. It was like a color wheel come to life. Most were car-formers like Smokescreen but one looked a T-Rex. One had another of its held in its arms, limp. Another looked like a jet of some kind, a girl to boot, and she was covered in some weird dark indigo fluid that glowed faintly. Hank cast a sideways glance at the ones she'd already met to find horror in their expressions. Denny and Russell's eyes were wide, fixed on the flier. In return the black jet girl buried her face in her hands and ran off, sounding like she was trying her best not to burst into tears.

"Sen'za! Sen'za, wait! Come back! You need to have that wound looked at! Come back! Please! Don't run off!"

A shining gold and silver guy broke off from the group in an instant and went after her. He was soon out of immediate sight.

"Uh..." began another male alien, red and lithe and who hilariously looked like he had a metal mohawk. "I'll go...see if I can help. Her. Them. Be right back."

Hank watched the second male Cybertronian leave. She was curious about why the flier had run off and why she was so upset, and after her shiny friend had pointed it out she had noticed some kind of head wound as she'd run off – nasty looking, too. Yet she barely seemed to pay it any attention, so that probably wasn't why she was so upset. Did it have something to do with the weird glowing paint-like stuff on her? Everyone else seemed to know what it was and it scared or horrified them. It wasn't Energon, was it? No. Couldn't be. The color was all wrong.

"Charity, get Grim over to your med station and make sure he's okay." said a yellow and black male alien. "I'm giving you permission to chain the lug down if he starts being stubborn. But...go check on Sen'za afterwards, would you? She needs you and CF badly right now."

The request-like order had been directed at a dainty, smaller female Cybertronian. Hank's mind flew to the old beliefs in elves and pixies and even angels. She was very pretty. Cute. That was the best word to describe her. Hank watched her give a slight smile and a nod and lead the big, burly T-Rex alien off in one direction, helping along as best as her tinier, slenderer form allowed her to. She acted very much like a nurse would to a patient.

"Drift, get Octopunch over there, too. We gotta make sure he's stable before we put him back in stasis. Help her out if you can. She could use the extra set of hands."

This second request-like order was directed at another alien, a burnt orange-gold one with red and black accents who looked suspiciously like a samurai warrior to her. The yellow and black alien handed him the many-limbed alien in his hands. The unconscious alien's head lolled enough for Hank to see a nasty weld on its throat. Nodding, the samurai alien stomped off in the same direction the green girl alien and T-Rex had gone.

"Who were they?" she whispered to Russell.

"Seeker – er, flier femme's Sentenza. Seekers are just their term for jet-formers. Gold and silver guy was Counterforce. Cop. They're kind of an item. You'll catch onto that pretty fast the more you see of them. Red mech was Sideswipe. Trouble maker and _kind_ of a jerk some days, especially to Strongarm, but he's a good guy in the end." whispered Russell in reply. "He and Frostbite have a... _contract_ sort of about keeping me safe. T-Rex is Grimlock. Big guy, real strong, and a bit of a klutz but he's a good guy, too. Not exactly a brainiac though. Charity's the medic here – doctor. Also pacifist. Sweetest person you'll ever meet in your life. I don't think she knows _how_ to be mean or rude or anything. Oh, she can be kinda firm but she's never mean. Also a musician. She has this harp thing and – God, Hank. You _need_ to hear her sing. She's amazing."

She nodded. Interesting that they seemed to have gender designations: femme for female, mech for male. Could a machine even have a gender though, alive or not? Or was that more just related to how they looked instead of actual genders? They sure _looked_ and _sounded_ male and female. She'd been able to tell right away Zodiac was a girl even before she'd spoken up. Same went for Smokescreen – he looked very much like a metal young adult man. His voice had just confirmed it. That they could be musicians was even more amazing. She believed Russell when she said Charity was a great singer.

"A medic who sings, huh?" she repeated. "Wow. What about the other one – the one who looks like a samurai? Who's that?"

"That's Drift. He's new and he's not a permanent stay. He's kinda strict – well, a _lot_ strict, especially with his little helpers Slipstream and Jetstorm – but he's very honorable. Upright. Doesn't believe in dirty acts or fighting. Which makes me wonder why he's working for the Cybertronian Council. I'm thinking they aren't exactly the most praise-worthy governing system ever. Not the nicest people from what I've heard of 'em. Heck, they were the ones to send Drift after 'Bee – he's the yellow and black one; he's one of the three authority figures next to Counterforce and Smoke."

Apparently their voices were loud enough to draw attention. Many pairs of optics snapped down to lock onto, first Russell, then Hank. She backed away, suddenly hesitant and a bit afraid. She nearly jumped when she felt a hand placed on her shoulder. The girl glanced behind her to see Denny. He offered her a wink and a reassuring nod.

"Guys. This is Hank. She's a friend of Russell. You've seen her playing football with Rusty and some of the other kids. She came here because she was worried about him. Hank was outside and found Zodiac, then met Frostbite, then met Smokescreen and Russell while you were busy underwater. She's been here for about half an hour or so."

Then, two more words:

"She knows."

* * *

Sideswipe caught up with Counterforce beyond the walls. He was looking around frantically as he headed for the south wall. The red mech understood his reasoning for that perfectly. That was where the Seeker's little shelter was. That was Sentenza's safe spot. There was a pretty good chance he might find her there. He permitted himself to feel a touch pleased that his piece of advice that first night had turned into something useful for her. He had helped her feel safe the first night and indirectly had continued to do so.

"Sen'za? Sen'za?"

"CF! Wait up!"

The Praxian turned to meet him. His expression was the oddest Sideswipe had seen so far. There was fear in his weird, dual-colored optics, fear and alarm and concern. But there was deep, profound tenderness, too, brought on by what he could only guess was true sympathy, understanding. And on seeing the added help he had now a twinkle of hope sparked in them. The smile Sideswipe got in return, despite it being thin, was at least genuine. He wasn't forcing it or trying to be falsely polite with him. He really was happy he was here.

"Need a hand?" asked Sideswipe.

"I'd appreciate some help, thank you. But keep your distance when we find her until she's calmed down. She's more used to me and _only_ me seeing her like...like she is."

"But...everyone saw her like that on the ship. Even Drift. Speaking of which, I don't think we can keep him in the dark much longer."

Counterforce shook his helm, telling him that hadn't been the real Sentenza. The real Sentenza had only surfaced after he had _allowed_ her personality the anchor it needed to reassert control, and need he remind him she had been well aware of all the shocked, horrified glances focused on her, aware of her nightmarish, fuel-stained appearance. Had he not noticed her shudder violently? As for Drift...he didn't quite know how to proceed with him.

"Lying won't work, I know. Further refusal to clarify might annoy or insult him, but I can't think of any other way. It's too soon to know whether or not we can trust him with the information. I trusted the rest of you with it because 'Bee is actively being hounded by the Council, and you're all here due to him whether by design or sheer accident. I know none of you will reveal her to them. I can't be so sure about Drift. Slipstream and Jetstorm might be slightly more trustworthy, but they're still under Drift's mentorship and thus his command."

Sideswipe said nothing. He didn't know what to say. He liked the Seeker but he'd never stopped to think about the complications of her problem until her arrival. He did follow the Praxian's line of thought easy though. He got that he wanted to be careful. Counterforce was right to be wary of who he placed his and Sen'za's trust in. It was no stretch to believe she had a bounty on her helm, and that said bounty applied whether she was alive or dead. Neither was in his or hers best interest. The trust in 'Bee's group and Smoke's group was natural. And there was no way in the Pit this lovestruck mech would let her come to harm. Because, yeah – it was pretty obvious to him he was helm over heel struts for her.

They rounded the corner to the south wall to be met with a peculiar sight. In the near distance, near the third half of the wall's length was the little conglomeration of metal where Sentenza often hid herself away. Nearer to them was a fairly large pile of what one might mistake as junk or scrap metal, but a closer inspection revealed it as a pile of spare parts and mechanical objects. There were even a few spare tires in the mix, one small enough to easily fit Charity's vehicle form.

"What the..?" Sideswipe gawked. "Where'd all this come from? How long's it been here?"

Counterforce approached it, kneeling to examine it. Like Grimlock he spied the piece of metal atop the pile with the cyberglyph writing etched into it. He let his digits pass over the words. Cleanly cut but a bit jagged in places, probably made by an industrial-class laser cutter. The jagged nature indicated perhaps one made rather than found and used. A wry smile formed.

"I believe the right question to ask would be: _Who_ gave us these items?" he corrected. "I think Charity's decision has started to pay off."

"Wait...You mean this is _all_ from Chop Shop?"

"His name's on this piece of metal here. Word choice and sentence structure certainly sound like him."

"Huh. So Charity's gamble actually paid. But...how do we know this stuff isn't, like, stolen?"

"There's a chance some of it could be." admitted the Praxian dryly. "We _are_ dealing with a kleptomaniac, remember. It's not like he can go into an auto shop or scrapyard and _buy_ the stuff or anything. That's just something we'll have to deal with. Hopefully he took care to take items that wouldn't impact the business too drastically, or older, used items that are still usable after a bit of refurbishment. From the looks of the items that seems to be the case. Tires look far too new though..."

He rose, sending a ping to Fix-It that there was a present awaiting him and Windstorm at the provided coordinates as he started off again. Sideswipe trotted after him. So much weirdness was going on today it was making his helm spin. This whole thing was just...just nuts – Sentenza, the whole Optimus thing, and now some freaky voodoo pirates from way back in the past trying to kill them not even a full breem ago. Not even one of the Thirteen popping in to play a round of cards with them would surprise him at this point. Was Earth always this weird?

When both were about four dozen yards away from the Seeker's shelter they could very easily pick up the low keening noises she was making as she wept. Counterforce silently motioned for Sideswipe to stay back, an order he obeyed. The red mech wished he could do something to help but he didn't know what. So he contented himself to stay back and just watch, only able to hear the Seeker's keens – which were spark-wrenching to listen to. What she'd done in the ship was really tearing her up inside. But if not for her reacting in the ways she had they'd probably all be worse off or probably dead. Sure they weren't the nicest acts ever...like at all...but in a gritty, dark way she'd helped save them.

"Sen'za?" he heard Counterforce prompt softly, gently. "Sen'za? It's me."

The crying abated by a fraction. But no verbal answer came. He watched him kneel before the shelter, reach in a hand. A shaking dark silver-grey hand met it. The crying lessened further.

"Shh. It's alright. It's alright...I'm here. You don't have to hide from me. You know that."

The Seeker appeared out of the shelter, gingerly helped out by the one hand. Counterforce simply held her, shushing her and wiping away some of her tears.

" _I couldn't fight Her. I couldn't stop Her...S-She got out a-and people got hurt, killed even!_ " he heard her say, stammering from the crying.

Sideswipe fidgeted from pede to pede uncomfortably. In a way he felt hugely honored they were showing this level of closeness with each other with him here and as close as he was. It showed they trusted him. He had a feeling trust didn't come very easy with the Seeker, and he already knew Counterforce didn't trust blindly. That trust meant a lot. But he also felt he didn't belong there right then. This was between them. Personal. He was kind of a third wheel right now. So he was hugely surprised when, right when he was about to turn and leave them, Counterforce pinged him to approach. So he came.

Sentenza heard him and turned to look. Faint surprise and a sudden urge to sink into oblivion showed in her optics. She huddled closer against the Praxian fearfully, watching him. He noticed her trembling a little. He didn't even need to sense or read her field to know she was scared. At that moment she looked less like a blood-soaked assassin-vigilante and a lot more like a terrified sparkling who'd jump and scream at the sight of her own shadow. He realized that this was the real damage the Nightdemon was doing to her: she was scared, horrified even, not of the monster inside (though that was still pretty major), but of _herself_.

He knelt. "Uh...Hi. Um..." He gave the Praxian a desperate, clueless, helpless look. He had no idea what to do or even say. He'd never done anything like this before, nor had he ever had to deal with someone like Sentenza. Or deal with the aftershock of a Nightdemon attack for that matter. He knew about Kaon's resident vigilante huntress, but he'd always thought of her as some vengeful specter, not a mesh and Energon person.

The red mech didn't expect the Seeker's trembling hand to reach out for his. Receiving a nod from Counterforce, he took it. Even less did he expect her to leave her Praxian friend and instead give _him_ a frightened, kind-of-sort-of ferocious hug. Honestly he had no clue how to respond to it for almost a full Earth minute. But after that one minute passed he returned it, albeit awkwardly.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Another interlude here and next chapter.**


	28. Chapter 28: Mending Pride's Mistake

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 28**

* * *

Drift found Charity busily but gently tending to the resident Dinobot at her little medical station. Grimlock for once was not being stubborn or short-sighted, staying perfectly still, moving only when she told him to. He was a little surprised to see the strange little furry creature from the other night sitting on a shelf nearby, watching her closely with its head tilted to one side. Every so often while she worked on his partially exposed side she would reach over and offer a little scratch on the creature's head with a single digit. Hm. So the creature was welcome in the salvage yard? A pet of some kind? He felt a bit guilty about shooing it off now.

The medic noticed his approach and nodded in his direction. Then she motioned with a spare hand for the bounty hunter to place his limp, wounded cargo on an exam table close by. Drift did so wordlessly, placing the unconscious pirate down as gently as possible. He did not leave though. Bumblebee had suggested she might benefit from another set of hands. He knew basic first aid, luckily. How much use that would be in dealing with damaged internal mechanisms he couldn't say, and his hands were a bit bulky to be dealing with fine repairs.

"Grim, I need to see to Octopunch real quick. Can you wait a breem or so?"

"Sure." answered Grimlock. "Doesn't hurt so bad now."

She smiled. The lack of sensation was good. Showed her tools were still working and her skills still sharp.

"Yeah, that's because I deactivated a whole section of neurodes in there, smart guy. It won't stay that way for long but it'll help make repairs a bit less painful. I know you're a tough mech but nobody's got a one hundred percent pain tolerance naturally. At the least it would be pretty uncomfortable when I realign those servo gears and the main joint, at the most painful enough that pain killers won't do all that much, and I always like to make sure my patients aren't uncomfortable or in any pain. Makes things easier on the patient and easier on the doctor."

Grimlock nodded. She'd mentioned some of his internal mechanisms had gotten lodged out of place thanks to the hit, and moving around and running and stuff had just made the problem worse. It was a bit weird not being able to feel most of his leg and thigh and some of his upper side but in the end that was probably a good thing. Blunt force medicine like shoving gears and joints back into place was bound to hurt a bit. Just went to show Charity was a medic by nature. She knew her stuff. They really were lucky to have her. He couldn't believe his stubbornness from earlier now. She'd just been trying to help, to avoid a bad outcome. Shunning her care had almost cost him.

Drift watched her smaller hands care for Octopunch, still unsure if he was needed or not. He was a bit taken aback at how...unbiased she was in her care. She acted and worked as if Octopunch were an Autobot or Neutral, not a Star Seeker guilty of mechslaughter and robbery. As pacifist and a healer, someone who sought to preserve life, this seemed paradoxical to him – yet somehow it made sense. It was a medic's sworn mission to save lives, regardless of politics or deeds. Charity took that word for word literally. She was not the judge in such matters. She was the helpful bystander, adhering to the Triage Code she worked by.

"Well?" asked the bounty hunter. "Will he live?"

"He'll live alright. In no small part thanks your quick thinking, Drift. Credit goes to Backdraft, too. The weld's not pretty by any means, or professionally done, but it did it's job. You both helped save his life by thinking to use his flame-throwers as substitute arc welders. He will need some Energon to replace at least some of what he lost, however. Putting someone in stasis who's dangerously low is risky. Rather than putting the mech in hibernation it could very well permanently freeze him. Energon processing and circulation helps safely counteract the cold. With how much he lost..." She shook her helm with a soft sigh. "It's a miracle he didn't bleed out altogether. Hitting the _a'lik tmeo_ line is usually fatal. There's so much Energon coming out as it's pumped to power the processor that nanites simply can't stop it."

She did not say she knew who had done so. Sentenza was a professional assassin by this point in her life, with forensics knowledge to boot. She _would_ know where to hit a victim to ensure instant or near-instant death. Pity swelled in her spark rather than anger. She didn't hate her for what she had done. She couldn't imagine living like that, being forced to kill when you could no longer fight yourself. Her life seemed to be an unending jet-stream of pain, death, and loss – one she couldn't seem to escape no matter how hard she tried to. Counterforce could help her, but he couldn't cure it.

Drift's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Would you like me to bring some to you?"

She smiled: "Yes, thank you. Bring a whole cube and I'll give him enough to balance things out. Shouldn't impair our reserves too drastically."

He nodded and left. A short tap on one of the nearby shelves made her turn. Bumblebee offered a small wave to her.

"Mind if I come in?"

She managed a small laugh. "Well, there's no door so nothing's stopping you, is there? But you were polite and you knocked so, yes. Come in. Just keep back a ways so I don't crash into you. I've got my hands full with these two."

The yellow and black patrolmech came in. Like Drift he spotted the calico feline keeping watch from her perch on another shelf. He grinned, went over to the young cat, and offered her a rub on the head that resulted in loud purrs and shut eyes. A mewl escaped when he stopped, mild offense in her hazel eyes. One more head rub satisfied her need for attention. She jumped off and soon began rubbing up against Grimlock's pede, making the hefty mech chuckle. Tumbler just seemed to make everything better. Sweet little critter. And he'd actually been terrified of her in the beginning. Kind of hard to imagine the place without her now.

"Everything good here?"

"As good as can get all things considered." Charity reported. "It's no fully stocked clinic like back home, but so long as I have basic tools and supplies I can cope."

He looked at Grimlock for a moment, then back at Octopunch. He watched her clean up the rather amateurish, ugly weld on the pirate's neck, carefully and methodically like any good medic. He had to stifle a chuckle at the sight and her calm, friendly demeanor. She was such a stark contrast to the grouchy Ratchet that it was pretty laughable. Ratchet didn't like people intruding on his personal domain. Charity didn't seem to mind either way so long as the visitor kept out of the way. Still, calm as she acted he could tell she was still pretty shaken from the ordeal on the sunken hauler. He had a feeling everyone bar Fix-It, Zodiac, Frostbite, and Smokescreen were shaken to at least some extent, and they'd probably be after they'd gotten the report. It wasn't exactly a pretty picture to be painted.

Drift returned then with a cube of Energon in hand. He handed the precious fuel to Charity. Both watched as she carefully measured out the desired amount into a sub-mesh injector. The sharp needle quickly and cleanly pierced Octopunch's mesh. Thanking Drift, she handed him the still half-full cube with a request to return it. So once more the bounty hunter left. He admitted to himself privately he was a little concerned leaving her in the same vicinity as Octopunch now, seeing as he had some of his energy back. But Bumblebee and Grimlock were both there. They would ensure her safety. He needed to begin setting up his report, and to do that he needed to be in the commons area to hear everyone's respective stories. Perhaps when he delivered the report, _someone_ would know what was going on with those strange pirates and the wreck.

Grimlock tried to shift to see where Drift was going. He was a hard mech to warm to. Way too uptight, way too strict. Guy made Strongarm look laid back. Still, he was showing he wasn't _completely_ under the Council's thumb. A real crony would've gone through with the arrest. Drift hadn't.

Charity instantly clicked at him and told him not to move, and then she knelt down to continue with her repairs. She'd never tended a Dinobot before, but his systems didn't seem all that different from a particularly hefty Predacon. The joint mechanisms were far heavier though, designed to distribute his massive weight evenly on his two legs. She'd already managed to realign several servos, leaving only the joint itself misaligned – not horribly so, certainly not enough to cause limb misalignment, but enough to cause severe pain and discomfort. Odd. She'd always thought Dinobots were built sturdier than most. Putting her hands around it, she twisted and yanked on the joint...

"GAH!" he cried out. Dulled as the area was, he'd still felt that. Felt like someone had swung a sledge hammer at his upper leg.

Bumblebee winced in sympathy. Joint realignment was never a fun business, and with servos and joints as big and sturdy as Grim's it took some serious, forceful strength to realign them. He had to admit himself impressed though. Charity was a lot stronger than her dainty frame suggested. Then again, she was a medic. She'd had to have dealt with bigger, heftier mechs at some points in her career. And he knew well enough thanks to Smoke's little encounter with her in a certain clinic in Iacon that she was one of Knockout's subordinates – meaning she dealt with Predacons on an almost weekly basis.

Charity strained a little more. Then there was a loud _CLANK_! and the mechanical joint snapped back into place.

She rose and brushed some of the dust off her knee pikes. "Alright. That should do it. See how that feels. Gently."

Grimlock nodded and rose himself, instinctively keeping weight off the limb by favoring one side. There was still a dull ache as that section of his nervous system tried to relax from the sudden jolt, but funny enough the pain he'd been feeling earlier had all but disappeared. Gingerly he put weight back onto the one side – and there was no sharp pang. He stamped the pede twice to make sure. Other than the dull ache which was slowly going away he didn't feel anything wrong. Everything pretty much felt okay again.

"Feels good." he relayed, grinning. "Thanks. Erm...Sorry about not...y'know..." he trailed off.

He shifted a bit awkwardly. Honestly, he felt horribly guilty for not admitting he'd been hurt and accepting her care from the start. He'd been so focused on proving he was strong that he hadn't allowed himself to admit weakness. Weakness wasn't a bad thing. Sometimes you just needed a doctor's help. Like Smokescreen had said earlier that day, that was what she was here for. She was the medic. It was her job to make sure everyone was healthy, strong, fit for a fight.

"Sorry." he repeated.

The femme medic smiled: "No harm done, Grimlock. Just try to keep undue amounts of weight off that leg for a few days or so, will you? Give your nanites some quality time to repair the micro-fractures that hit and all your activity made. You don't want those becoming actual fractures. I found one – and you're lucky that was the only one I found. Those aren't so easy to fix and they take longer to heal. Alright? Just take it easy for a while. I'll check on it every so often to make sure everything heals right." She paused for a split astrosecond. "And thank you for protecting me." She did not add that ripping the pirate femme's wing off had been excessive. For a protective, angry Dinobot that was a fairly normal reaction.

"And Grim." Bumblebee added. "What I said wasn't a challenge or anything. I worded that badly. I meant that we need everyone at their best – and denying an injury and avoiding the resident medic is _not_ the right way to go about that. 'Kay?"

The Dinobot nodded, agreed to the terms and thudded out back into the salvage yard. Charity expected Bumblebee to leave with him, but he didn't. He was watching her closely now, an odd look on his faceplates and a wry smile on his lip-plates. She looked back at him, curious. One slender little brow ridge rose.

"What?"

"You are _nothing_ like Ratchet or Knockout. You really don't know how to be harsh, do you?"

She smiled back but said nothing as she went back over to check on Octopunch. His energy appeared to be stabilizing, but it was still fluxing. She would wait a bit longer before having one of the others put him back in his now working pod. Caution was a must in the medical profession. She didn't care what Octopunch had done in the past or more recently. A life was a life.

"I'll keep an optic on him, Charity. I hung around Ratchet during the War long enough to be able to read medical stuff. I'll let you know when he's stable. You go check on Sentenza."

* * *

"I warned you. I warned you this would happen."

Optimus had been hoping (praying really) that Micronus would not find him nor bother him where he was. He had wandered as far as he dared in this strange place, at least trying to get the lay of the land. Here he had hoped he could observe without being interrupted again. But to his frustration he had not been able to observe what had gone on in the wreck they had all discovered. Something or someone had blocked him effectively. He had only seen the aftermath: the black Seeker, on the verge of tears, running off to hide from her allies, and Counterforce and Sideswipe both doing what they could to comfort her despite being covered in dark indigo Energon, the likes of which he had never observed before.

Admittedly he was growing very concerned about Sentenza. Every day spent drew her closer to the dark force beneath her trods, rendering the Nightdemon more and more unstable. He was not angry with her for what she had presumably done on the wreck. He knew the Nightdemon's first and only instinct was to protect by any means necessary. So she had done just that: protect by any means. He felt nothing but concern and pity. She needed help and she needed it badly. That was what the mini-con Prime could not see, perhaps even _refused_ to see. By not getting her the help she so desperately needed, help a Prime might be able to offer, the problem was steadily compounding on itself, far faster than it had on Cybertron.

But, try as he might to avoid the mini-con Prime and his badly set up lessons, he'd found him.

 _Again._

The misty window he'd formed dissolved as he turned, doing his best to keep his annoyed, exasperated sigh contained. That was another question he intended to find an answer for. Micronus had told him a consensus of the Thirteen was needed for the barrier to be breached and observation permitted. So...how exactly was he able to observe _without_ such a consensus? Either that was not entirely true, a lie tactic to prevent "unnecessary distractions"...or someone here was _helping_ him, letting him break the rules for short spurts of time. Was that also how he'd managed to temporarily manifest to Backdraft and Charity, and in a less tangible way to Windstorm and Sentenza? There had been no consensus then, at least not that he knew of. It was an intriguing idea. _Who_ , then, was helping him? One of the Thirteen? Or someone far higher up the chain of power?

"I warned you, _told you_ , this would happen. That Seeker is a danger to everyone every day she stays there. And you utterly refused to listen to the warning. Now look what's happened. She attacked and nearly killed one of the convicts and then proceeded to go on what I can only assume was a murder spree." He frowned at him.

"Have you stopped to think the ones she terminated might have been even more dangerous than her? That she was acting to protect rather than mindlessly harm? There could very well have been Terrorcons on that wreck. Dark Energon is natural on the planet and it could have seeped inside and re-animated some of the lost crew. That might explain her...appearance. The water might have diluted it somewhat, rendering it paler and perhaps weakening it. That might explain why she nor Strongarm suffered ill-effects from contact with it."

He was pleased to see the other Prime falter imperceptibly at that. But sadly it did not last.

"You still refuse to see her as a threat, I see." Micronus noted. "Regardless of what went on in the ship, she still attacked one of the convicts – despite your countermeasures."

"I admit I did not expect this outcome to occur this soon, but you have her labeled as dangerous for the wrong reasons. You view her as a feral, wild animal who kills on impulse. Your data is flawed. The Nightdemon personality is patient, intelligent. She does not act on whims. Her first instinct is not to kill but to protect. If you were to look at this very instant, you would not see a wild animal. You would not even see a danger. You would see a _terrified child_ in _constant_ fear of harming others, one who _hates_ herself for what she is becoming. You have no right to claim her a danger when you do not know the struggle she has gone through her entire adult life and _still_ goes through _._ You do not know what it is like to no longer be able to trust yourself. So stop condemning her and start trying to help her. It's ironic, really. She is willing to do more than you are."

He drew closer, optics narrowed. Micronus had an unnatural talent for wearing thin his patience.

"You allowed me to observe her."

One of the mini-con's brow ridges arched. "Your point?"

"So stop interrupting me when I do so." the larger Prime growled. "I will return once I am certain she is no longer in emotional _agony._ Am I clear?"

He watched in frankly smug satisfaction as Micronus stared at him for a moment then blinked away in a soft flash. He then reformed the misty window and returned to his watching, pained that that was all he could truly do from here – watch. Micronus had made it quite clear since his little sojourn to Cybertron that he would not be allowed to return again until his training was complete. But at least he could "keep tabs" as Smokescreen liked to say on what happened outside this strange place.

Unconsciously his gaze focused on the dark indigo smudges, splatters, and smears on the Seeker's frame...and frowned. The substance gave him a bad feeling. What was it? What had occurred inside the wreck? Who precisely had the Seeker attacked and killed? The others no doubt knew, but he had promised to return once the Seeker was stable. Sentenza would also not be willing to speak of what happened. Much as he disliked Micronus, he would keep his word.

* * *

Sideswipe had no idea how long he knelt there letting the black Seeker gently crush him in an embrace. Well, technically he did – his chronometer was registering the time as it ticked by. He just didn't care. Time could go slag itself for all he cared about it. He also didn't care she was getting some of semi-dried indigo Energon onto his frame. That could be washed off later. He _did_ care that Sen'za was slowly stopping her crying and trembling. It was slow, it was unsteady – but it was progress. Still, it probably wasn't a good idea to take her back inside the walls. It might just set her off all over again, having all those eyes and optics staring at her.

When she was steady enough to move she pulled away from him, wiping away some of the dried coolant on her faceplates. There was no smile still, only a frown. No glitter in her optics like during those brief moments of fun, only pain and shame. But there was a little glimmer of what looked like thanks in them as she returned to Counterforce's arms, directed first at him, then back at Sideswipe. That really made it worth it. Sure he'd never be able to go beyond friendship with her thanks to the already obvious romantic attachment between the two – but he was actually okay with that. Friends were just as good as anything. Just so long as he had some relationship with her he was happy. She needed real friends.

"Thank you." she muttered a bit shakily at last. "Both of you. F-For what you did."

Counterforce pulled her a little closer, gently nuzzling her helm with his own. This earned a faint but replying purr. Sideswipe managed a grin. These two were so freakishly adorable together no matter what they did. He wasn't about to get in between this and ruin it for them. That would be a total jerk move. He was a bit of a jerk some days, but there was a threshold he wouldn't cross. These two? They pretty much _were_ the threshold. Mess with their relationship in any way and for all he knew you might incur the wrath of Primus.

Pedefalls, quick and light, met their audials. Charity appeared around the corner with her photoharp on her hip.

"You three alright?" she asked. "Sentenza?"

She reached out to touch her arm, expecting her to swat the limb away. But she didn't. She found her mesh to be icy cold, too. Odd. Her scanners weren't saying her core temperature was low. And she'd detected this the last time she'd come in physical contact with her. What was that about? A glance at Counterforce told her this wasn't new, a lingering problem much like the Nightdemon. That aside, the medic offered a hand to the Seeker and helped her up. The Praxian and Sideswipe both rose. She knew what might help her mood further. She suggested the Seeker get all the gunk off her. She didn't know what kind of physical effects it might have on her, and she wanted a small sample to study.

"It's a bit of a long shot, but perhaps there's a way to cure whatever was afflicting those pirates. It just needs to be found." she said.

Sentenza nodded and followed her, admitting a "hot shower" so the humans liked to say sounded as good as anything. She'd seen a hose somewhere around the place...

She turned to the two mechs. "You can go, boys." she managed in a voice a little louder than before. "Me and Charity can handle this. You need to go help the others. Tell 'em what you know so we can build a case file. I'll add my info later."

"Right. See ya."

Sideswipe darted for the wall and vaulted over it nimbly. Counterforce hesitated for a brief moment, looking at her concernedly, but he too nodded and quickly vanished over the wall. Charity then placed a hand on the black Seeker's arm. There was a faint little smile on her lip-plates.

"Alright. Come on. I'll help you get cleaned up. Where'd you see that hose last?"

* * *

Fix-It was reeling from the numerous coinciding reports of what had happened to the hauler and what occurred within its walls. This...it seriously took believing. If anyone had told him just last week a story of a mysteriously wrecked hauler filled with crew who had been killed by strange, self-healing pirates who had survived being frozen alive for Primus knew how long he very well might have laughed in their faces. Said aloud it sounded like some horror film – terrifying, but not quite _real_. But it was real. It had happened. And now the ship and its beacon were nothing more than a pile of scrap metal at the bottom of the trench. So, apparently, were the strange pirates.

"Anything more you can tell me about them?" he wondered. "Any crest? Any distinguishing marks, talents, anything?

"Yes, actually. Two markings. Both quite unusual." said Windstorm. "One was on every pirate that we saw so far as evidence tells. The other, from what Grimlock here says, was only on their captain. Let me show you."

The engineer activated his holo-display and began deftly tracing both crests with clean, swift strokes of his digits. An engineer had to know how to draw Drift supposed. In only a few Earth minutes the two crests were finished, and he uploaded them to the Alchemor's own database and holo-screen display. Seeing them again so neatly sketched out made a few among the aliens flinch, a returning Sideswipe and Counterforce among them. Windstorm did not. His own intrigue kept a typically horrified reaction quelled.

"The first I believe is a crest of a small splinter group of Star Seekers." he began.

"Octopunch's words seemed to verify that." Drift provided. "Or at least he might have believed they were a Star Seeker splinter group. He sounded convinced they would help him, maybe even induct him. Loyalty among them has shifted since their time. There are very few today, but in the past they were more of a force to be reckoned with. Back then, cooperation was a farce."

"Yes, thank you for that insight. Anyway, we can put that crest in the Alchemor and see if we have any hits, close hits, or information. Or when it comes time for Drift to return to Cybertron, he might take this information with him if the databases come up with nothing. The Hall of Records might, just might, have something referencing the crest – possibly in one of the restricted sections. Just a theory. The second one is the most interesting by far. It does not match the standard design of a Star Seeker crest, or Predacon, Decepticon, or Autobot. Completely unique."

Counterforce joined in: "Lieutenant Bumblebee thinks it has a connection to the Chaos-Bringer, Unicron. I'm inclined to believe him. Those horns are very distinctive. I've seen it before under different circumstances. It was part of a murder – a ritual kill of some kind. Only one in relation to that case, but one also cropped up later on in my career. Seeing it again gave me a bad case of deja vu. Evidence was more or less the same in each instance. Spark chamber was ripped open and a symbol not unlike that scrawled over the chassis like a brand. Odd symbols around the floor where the body was, but different than the horned one. Killer was nowhere to be found. No motive so far as could discern. One of the rare cold cases I've never solved. No one knows what happened there, and we probably never will. Killer never stuck his or her neck cables out again."

"If it was a ritual kill...what do you think the ritual was?" Slipstream wondered. "Did you or other officers ever theorize about the motive? You do not murder someone for a ritual for no reason."

"Oh, we did. None were satisfactory. Interestingly, Aegis told me after some snooping and digging that this wasn't first time precincts found a body like that. Dates back to before the War apparently, all the way back to the Golden Age and even before. Same instance there, and they cropped up a little more frequently, but they were still incredibly rare. Killer was never found. Cops back then had about as much luck as we did. Zilch."

Strongarm nodded. She hadn't heard mention of that particular case file in the officer-accessible databases of any precinct, but that the general _modus operandi_ of the killer dated back so far...something was going on there. That was strange to find kills millenia apart that bore very similar signatures.

"I never thought I'd see it here though, so far from home." admitted the Praxian perplexedly. "Funny, Sentenza didn't mention her recognizing it, and she's aware of all my cases. I'll have to ask her. Perhaps she never found those markings in the ship; never went down that way."

Russell shivered. A grim look into the life of an alien homicide investigator. Murders were just as strange and scary for a Cybertronian as they were for a human.

"Their kooky captain had some freaky healing ability, too." Grimlock reminded him. "She healed, like, way too fast. And after I bit her wing off, her Energon suddenly started tasting bitter. Like, really bitter. Nasty stuff. Still got that taste in my mouth. Yeck." He made a disgusted face. " _Normal_ Energon don't taste like that. Somethin' was up with it. Changed color, too. Went darker, almost purple. Sen'za's got it all over her. You guys all saw it."

"Then it wasn't isolated to just the captain then." Fix-It mused slowly. "Sentenza attacked the other pirates before rejoining the rest of you on the bridge. They were all affected. But it couldn't have been Dark Energon. The color wasn't quite right _._ _Indigo_ , not violet. I'll check with Charity after we get this settled. She might know more about it. Might have gotten a sample for study."

Smokescreen visibly flinched. He stared at the mini-con. Oh no. _No_. _Not_ that stuff again. If they were dealing with Dark Energon...but then why wasn't the Seeker suffering side effects if she had Dark Energon on her? 'Bee told him a long time ago the stuff had side effects if it so much as got on a mech or femme's mesh. Dizziness and blurred vision were just two. Overexposure led to you either dying or becoming a brainless pawn if you hadn't built up an immunity like a certain warlord had. But she'd acted just fine. Strongarm had gotten some of it on her too, and she hadn't reacted either. Was it something else then? He stole a glance at Counterforce, hoping for a hint of some kind. Those strange sun-and-moon optics looked baffled, but he could see his processor working, fitting pieces together to build a larger picture.

"Sooo..." Backdraft looked around. "What are we gonna call these guys? Can't just keep callin' 'em pirates. Way too generic." Strongarm cast him a deadpanning look. He held his hands up innocently. "Make it easier to file away if we did. Just sayin'."

"Well, we don't know the splinter group's name, and since they are all offline we never will." Drift stated pointedly. "But I suppose we could come up with something. It would make my report more accurate in any case."

"Who's Unicron?" Hank asked suddenly.

"Giant evil robo-demon who likes turning us poor 'bots into his personal undead playthings once he's got his hooks in us." Smokescreen said crisply. "Class A jerkface. But he's basically a god so you can't kill him. Trust me. We've tried. Most you can do is knock him back out for a bit with a Matrix. Closest we got to getting rid of him was trapping part of his Anti-Spark into a jar at the end of the War." A pause. A few incredulous expressions. "Oh, I'm not kidding. Ask 'Bee. He was there."

"Robot...demon...god-thing." Denny repeated. "Okay. Never heard that one before."

Hank went on: "What's he do really? Can you gimme some examples?"

"There are many stories over his deeds, none of them good." Drift began."Most often he tempts an individual with power, either by brokering deals with them or the individual finding or being offered Dark Energon. It does indeed grant power, even near invincibility – at a cost. You could describe the substance as drug-like, rapidly addicting the user until they cannot function without. What they fail to realize is that _that_ is the whole point. By then it is too late for them to go back on the deal, even if they could. They are indoctrinated servants who listen to his every word and obey his every order, and additionally they are no longer in harmony with the Allspark. So if by some stroke of bad luck they are killed, he drags them into the dark. What he does with them there is anyone's guess, but it is assumed it is far from pleasant."

Hank and Russell both blinked and in unison said: "Whoa." Talk about evil. Screw robo-demon. This guy was freaking robo- _Satan_.

"So they get corrupted basically?" Denny hazarded.

"That's rather putting it too nicely, but yes."

"Hmm. This might sound a little corny, so bear with me here...but how about we call 'em _Corrupticons_?"

Sideswipe grinned: "All praise Denny, our new lord of naming conventions!"

To which Strongarm responded by soundly smacking him in the back of the helm and telling him to take this if nothing else seriously.

Counterforce managed a short little dry laugh, saying it was better than the names the precinct had come up with for the ritual killer. It had turned into a kind of darkly humorous game among the 'bots who'd worked it, trying to concoct a good designation for the killer. They'd just started calling the killer, more likely killer _s_ seeing as there was obviously more than one due to so many crimes, the Horned Crown Killer.

Thus, Fix-It quickly created a new database in the Alchemor, a nearly empty one with only bits and pieces of data on it. The database name then shone in dark indigo Cyberglyphs on the holo-screen, English written beneath it in smaller text. Shadowed beneath both was the tell-tale horned crest.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Phew. Long "in-betweener" episode is long. I almost wanna do another since this isn't quite done. These are actually kinda fun. Besides, I want a bit of a lull period to counteract all the grisly horror I just finished.**

 **Also, as Micro and OP are concerned - shots. freaking. _fired_. man. o-O**

 **Note 1: And enter the idea I borrowed (with permission) from another artist on DA: the Corrupticon. :D Credit goes to Eric-Arts. Just the name so far. This will be playing a much bigger role further on towards the finale.**


	29. Chapter 29: Song of the Sea

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 29**

* * *

Most everyone eventually dispersed from the command center after providing more details on the strange pirates, and another piece of data related to the mission: that of Windstorm's strange half-fish form. He said he would demonstrate it, but not right then. He wasn't exactly _eager_ to get back in the water. Fix-It diligently categorized and filed away each data snippet provided to him. The pirates – the Corrupticons – whatever they really were, were a puzzle in the broadest sense, one still missing many pieces. The image they had right now was incomplete. Even Windstorm's strange new mode presented questions. Hopefully this was the last they would see of such dark aberrations, but if they did see more of them perhaps the final image would become clearer. If they wound up having to combat them alongside the prisoners, or if they became a distinctly new threat entirely, it would be best to have as much information on them as possible.

Counterforce wandered off in search of Sentenza, Sideswipe wandering after him. Strongarm had gone off in search of Charity earlier, the medic plainly pinging during evidence statements for her to come find her and get cleaned up. She was now free of the gunk and going through her rules and regulations holo-book. Frostbite and Smokescreen lingered around the walls. The wolf seemed oddly agitated and stayed around that particular wall for some reason, growling softly at the air as he sniffed, and Smokescreen and Zodiac were trying to puzzle out why – which was difficult when Frostbite was not offering much in the way of explaining his behavior. Drift wandered off in the direction of Charity's medbay to check on Bumblebee and the prisoner. Surely by now the many-limbed pirate was stable and could be safely sealed away. He also wanted a word with Sentenza. Her odd behavior and appearance on the ship's bridge demanded an explanation.

A few did remain however, as did Russell, Hank, and Denny. Windstorm was busily at work repairing some uncooperative wiring and circuits atop the command center. After providing his highly detailed data and providing a few possible theories he had switched abruptly from sleuth back to engineer. The mini-con personally suspected he was a bit rattled from his experience no matter how indifferently intrigued he acted and simply needed a distraction, a return to some semblance of normalcy. He didn't blame him. And, really, the repair was welcome. Some of the console's commands weren't firing or going through properly; lingering damage from the crash. He would've told him that repairs on the pods were the priority, but he wasn't about to tell him to stop. The engineer enjoyed being occupied. He was sure that once he was through with this little pet task he'd move on to the main one. The scanners were not picking up Decepticon signals yet. There was time enough for both.

Windstorm went about with his repairs and within a short time had satisfied himself that the wiring wouldn't act up again. He re-sealed the missing panel back in place and leapt off.

"Alright. Is that any improvement, Fix-It?" he asked.

The mini-con toyed with the command console for a bit. The command misfires were now more or less absent. A few minor stutters happened but otherwise the console was acting almost as well as it had before the crash. Windstorm really was a genius with technology. Then again, he thought humorously, he's probably had quite a bit of practice. Star-ships came outfitted with command consoles whether they were prison ships or research ships, and like any piece of technology they could be damaged and needed routine maintenance. He was a star-ship engineer. He knew every design of vessel inside and out.

"Better, thank you. Could you go ensure Octopunch's pod is fully operational? And ping me the statuses of the other pods you've been working on."

Windstorm nodded and set off.

"Wow. Busy guy." Hank noted. Even in the short time she'd been here he was constantly doing _something_ around the salvage yard, and almost always something with his hands. He kind of reminded her of a big metal worker bee. He just didn't seem happy unless he was doing something productive for the group. Denny didn't seem to mind.

She looked around and was satisfied to see Russell head off towards Frostbite, Zodiac, and Smokescreen, and Denny headed off to check on Grimlock, wherever the big lug was. He'd gone off to wherever Charity had gone and he hadn't come back to the commons. Fix-It was busy at the command center. Hmm. A smirk formed on her lips. She really wanted get to know the aliens one by one, and exploring _would_ make that an option...Denny wouldn't mind her poking around and getting to know the place a little better, would he? Nah. He was a pretty cool adult.

Checking one last time, she darted off in the direction Windstorm had gone. Fix-It had mentioned pods. She kinda wanted to know what those were.

* * *

Hank had only been inside the salvage yard once, and she hadn't gotten very far in that time. Now she basically had free reign of the whole place. And it was a lot bigger than it looked from the front gates. It seemed pretty believable that Mr. Clay had been able to hide a bunch of aliens on his property for as long as he had without her or anyone really getting suspicious. There was plenty of room for them, and if they stayed in vehicle form they could probably hide pretty easy among the other cars he had stored here. Actually, come to think of it, that was probably where they'd gotten their vehicle forms in the first place.

Really, the only reason _she'd_ gotten wise to it was because Zodiac had gotten a little bit careless. She grinned and laughed a bit in remembrance. That had to be the weirdest introduction she'd ever been through. Y'know – just a random metal bird in a totally ordinary tree reading an alien tablet and humming to herself, then freaking out and shrieking at the top of her...wait, did the aliens even _have_ lungs? She'd seen their chests move as if they were breathing. Hm. Maybe fans to keep them cool? They were vehicles, and those had cooling fans.

Anyway, it was pretty funny how terrified the Predacon acted around others. Seriously, did she just not realize she had razor claws and a sharp beak?

She wandered down another isle. The loud roar of an engine came from around the other corner and she tensed. That was a _really_ loud engine, like the kind some of those sports car drivers in the city had that might just blow your eardrums out when going full throttle down the road. No way that belonged to anything smaller than an Urbana. Her belief was shattered into a zillion pieces when a strangely burly looking yet sleek Harley-Davidson motorcycle (custom made from the looks of it, too!) accented with eerily familiar flames came roaring down the isle. She let out a little shriek on noting its speed and tried to dive out of the way, eyes shut – but she never hit ground. Something warm and plainly metallic grabbed her mid-air. Felt an awful lot like giant metal hands.

"Whoa! Easy there, kid! I don't bite!" a friendly voice laughed. "I'm not like Frosty. Got no fangs! Not so territorial either. Like I always say: the more the merrier! Ha-ha!"

The girl opened her eyes and looked up to see the oddly impish looking orange and red mech with the flame accents who'd come out of the bridge. He was grinning at her, and true to his words he possessed no fangs. He'd been briefly introduced along with the others before everything had gone back to the business of the mission report, which had been totally creepy. She was gently put back on solid ground, but the mech didn't get up. He knelt in front of her instead, amber eyes gleaming.

"B-Backdraft, right?" she guessed. Talk about an entrance!

"Ha! Yep! And you're Hank." He held a hand out amiably, still grinning in that kiddish way of his. She eyed the giant limb a bit skeptically but took one digit and they gingerly shook hands. Er, fingers. "Nice to finally meetcha! Y'know, without the interruptions and that general horror story of a mission report. Everyone's a bit, eh, on edge right now. Windy's a bit down 'cause he had to blow the ship. Guy's a star-ship engineer back home. That was like askin' him to put down a puppy."

"You sure don't act on edge." Hank observed curiously. He really didn't. Out of everyone he seemed the most un-scared of the group. He'd remained very easy-going.

"I'll admit to ya I'm a little shaken by it, but I'm no good at lingering on fear. Not really productive, ya know? Life's not fun if you're always afraid of something. Besides, ship's gone and so are those Corrupticon freakos. They're sleepin' in pieces with the fishes. Nothin' to worry about now."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Aside from all the alien convicts running loose."

Backdraft laughed. "Well, I thought that was implied. Guess I should say it's back to business as usual, eh?"

"Actually, I was looking for Windstorm. Have you seen him?"

The biker grinned and transformed. His front headlight flashed as he spoke: "I'll do ya one better. Was gonna go find 'im anyway, so I'll take ya to him. Hop on!"

"...Is that safe?" She eyed the bike a bit warily. She was pretty sure a minor riding a motorcycle without a license and without an adult driver was pretty, well, _illegal_.

"'Course it is. I won't speed with a kid passenger, not indoors. Cross my spark. 'Bee'd boot-clamp my tires if he caught me anyway. Trust me, not comfortable, and makes transformin' a real pain in the real axle. I cause trouble back home and get dragged in for mischief makin', I always get threatened with 'the boot' by the head officer of the precinct. Only had it on a few times but Primus – _never_ again." He shuddered and yet still laughed.

Hank, thus somewhat reassured, swung herself into the saddle. Just like he promised, the talking Harley-Davidson did not in fact shoot off like a bullet. He leisurely spun around and headed off deeper in the yard at a steady pace. Huh. A speedy alien mischief maker who was honest and kept his word and was capable of being safe around humans. She...honestly hadn't expected that. It was a nice surprise.

* * *

They found Windstorm busy at work on an empty pod, seemingly in a world of his own. He was working on some of the wiring and tubing that ran inside the large capsule, fingering the different wires carefully with a keen optic. The one in his right hand sparked to hint that it was live. Beside him lay an organized pile of what looked like junk, but a closer look showed usable items.

"Hey, sparky!" Backdraft greeted. "See someone brought you some supplies!"

The engineer jumped – and in the process the live wire in his hand met his mesh. Thankfully his surge protectors worked a little more this time around, as all he did was jolt, swear, and drop the wire as it gave him a nasty zap, leaving a black scorch mark on the limb. It fell against the pod, still sparking. He looked ready to turn and snap at the Altihexian but forestalled that reaction when he saw who was with him. A thin, wry smile formed.

"Oh! Good afternoon, young lady. What brings you here? Our resident amiable ne'er-do-well giving you a tour of the grounds?"

Hank ignored the question in favor of one of her own: "Are you okay? That looked like it hurt."

"Ah, believe you me, I've suffered worse than that little jolt. I had the pod set to its lowest active setting to reduce the shock should I accidentally manage to electrocute myself. Be that as it may I do also have surge protectors in built to help distribute dangerous amounts of electricity. Necessity of my career back home. Star-ships generate an awful lot of power and they do unfortunately suffer technical problems like any device. A jolt from one of those could land me in a clinic for quite some time."

Her eyes widened. "Has that happened?"

"Once or twice I admit, though that was more bad luck than any failing in skill. But not to worry. I recovered. Even an electric jolt from a star-ship isn't lethal, just ludicrously painful. And of course there's the lingering risk of permanent neurode damage from the overload."

The engineer resumed his tinkering rather dismissively. Hank hopped off to let her ride switch modes. She approached the massive metal capsule thing he was working on. She asked him what it was. His answer was surprisingly simple: he told her it was a cryo-stasis capsule intended to house a single prisoner. It worked by chilling the prisoner into stasis-lock, which was akin to being comatose. But unlike with humans the state could be reversed merely by increasing the temperature once more. And that was the very problem that had resulted in the convicts running loose. Either the pod had broken open, or suffered a technical failure, or another prisoner, already free, had found it and let them out.

"Uh...how many criminals are we talking about here?"

"From my last check of the prisoner manifest we still have many to go – too many. The Alchemor was designed to hold upwards of three hundred convicts easily, four hundred at maximum capacity. And that doesn't include the members of Steeljaw's pack. They're proving quite troublesome. Fortunately Sentenza''s presence seems to be deterring them from any major attack of late. Considering what went on in the ship, I don't blame them for keeping their distance. She is not someone to trifle with."

Hank looked at him quizzically. Why would dangerous alien convicts be avoiding the black flier? She didn't seem dangerous. She'd acted more upset and afraid when she'd run off earlier. Then again, Smokescreen had said Energon was the fuel source for his species, and Fix-It had mentioned Dark Energon when mulling over Sentenza's weird glowing goo problem...He'd said it was the wrong color but...uh-oh. She was not liking where this train of thought was going, because now her running off on the verge of tears was beginning to make an awful lot of _sense_.

Backdraft saw her change of expression. He stole a glance at Windstorm for some kind of guidance on how to proceed, but the engineer was in a world of his own again. Well, he might as well warn her. Counterforce had told everyone the first night as a warning and as a plea for understanding. Guy wouldn't mind if he gave Hank the same warning.

"Er, kid. Sen'za's got some... _problems_ if you get me. Mental. Poor gal's got a second personality coded into her and it's not very nice. Now don't get me wrong here, it's actually pretty slagged protective. Helped defend us on the ship. Even helped protect Drift who may or may not arrest her if he finds out. Helps defend Kaon from crooks and lowlifes. Only downside is that it's also pretty ruthless. Not afraid to kill. S'why she's so scared of it getting out, taking control of her. Kaonians even got a name for it: _Tcsovan niv a'anoth_. Means 'Demon of the Night' in their dialect."

Hank blinked. "Wait. So she – um the other her – really did attack those pirates in the ship, and I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess the other her didn't _just_ attack them, did it? It...I'm guessing it took that a step further, right? That stuff on her had you guys scared because you don't know what it is, not yet, but it's definitely alien robot blood, isn't it? Some kind of Energon?"

The biker did little more than nod at her. Hank shuddered. Man. No wonder crooks were scared of her. Even she was a little scared of her now. But, funnily enough, she wasn't so much scared as she was sorry for her. The Seeker had looked so awesome and imposing and, yes, pretty on first glance, the red accents and yellow eyes like burning fires against her shiny, inky black body. She'd noticed the goo only after a few seconds. Then she'd broken down into a scared kid and had ran off to hide from everyone over what she'd done on the ship. She hadn't even given Charity a chance to check out her head wound. She hadn't seen her since. Sentenza was probably still hiding.

"...Will she be okay?" she asked quietly. She expected Windstorm or Backdraft to answer. Someone else did – someone who was way more qualified.

"Physically? She should recover in a few solar cycles. The wound isn't as bad as it looks; meant to render unconsciousness, not kill. It's the emotional damage I'm worried about. That's far worse and not so easy to mend." said a new voice, friendly and kind yet softened by sadness. "And it's only getting worse. I'm afraid we may have to send her back home with Drift when he returns to Cybertron. At least there she has a power looking out for her."

"Yeah, and we both know putting those two in a personal ship won't end well. He doesn't trust her, she doesn't trust him." argued another voice, male, one more familiar. "Still...the Nightdemon _did_ help protect him on the ship...Maybe that's a point in her favor."

They both whipped around to see Charity with Bumblebee, the latter holding Octopunch's limp form in his arms. Windstorm broke from his own personal bubble of reality to turn and look as well. He said nothing aside from "Pod's working, sir." thus prompting the yellow and black mech to come over and place the pirate back where he belonged: a prison cell. There was a rush of chilled gasses and then the glass fogged up, obscuring Octopunch from easy view.

"I'll get someone to move this outta the way for you." said Bumblebee. "Kinda cloggin' up your work-space here."

Windstorm offered a wry little smile as he answered: "Not exactly, but thank you regardless for the kind gesture. It helps make up for your order to destroy the ship."

Bumblebee winced. "Sorry. But we really didn't have a choice there, did we?"

"Apology accepted. And I know we had only really one option open to us, and that was to demolish the hauler. Just don't ask me to do it again. There's a high probability I'll refuse. I build things. I _repair_ things. I do _not_ blow them into a million pieces."

"I'll try not to. No promises but I'll try _real_ hard. Okay? Deal?"

"Very well."

He resumed his work, field still slightly agitated and frame tense. 'Bee had the sense he was being dismissed and bade a somewhat hasty retreat. He had a feeling the engineer might be mad at him for a while because of that order. He'd give him time to cool off before he really bothered him again. That was what Optimus had always done. He'd stick to that plan.

* * *

 _A few hours later..._

Activity levels had subsided a little within the walls. The sun had set and the midnight velvet of the sky was just beginning to be dotted with twinkling stars. A gibbous moon had already risen a few degrees above the horizon, its silvery-white light drowning some of the fainter stars.

Mr. Clay had arranged with Hank's parents for her to stay the evening. He'd had a little trouble coming up with a believable excuse at first, rendering the Greens understandably skeptical, but Russell and Hank had come in and saved the adult by saying they wanted to talk football strategy. The Greens had relented then though, saying they did expect her back by eight thirty, and she was _not_ to bike back in the dark. Either they would come get her or Mr. Clay could provide transport. Denny had said it might be best if he brought her back. That way he could bring the bike, too. Of course the excuse to stay was nothing short of an out and out lie. Hank really just wanted to hear Charity sing, and the medic seemed to want to spare her voice until it was truly needed. She had done everything but the rest of the afternoon.

So on hearing some sweet testing notes brought over on a breeze, Hank followed them. The notes even drew some of the aliens, and she was soon joined in her little trip to the south wall by Sideswipe, Grimlock, and even Drift and his two little helpers. She looked back to see if any others might come, and she swore she saw a flash of icy blue and white between the shelves: Frostbite. His form soon vanished over the wall, silent as a ghost. Hm. Was he leaving to explore a bit? Or was he up to something else? The wolf had been acting weird for a while now, and no one had quite figured out why. According to Smokescreen, he apparently refused to say because he wasn't certain. Yet.

The girl and the aliens found Charity once more perched atop the wall. She was not actually playing, not yet. It seemed like she was tuning the strange harp-like device. After about five minutes the notes began to sound less like a harp's and a little more like an acoustic guitar. Yet there wasn't a country ring to it. It was gentler, sweeter.

"Can you make it sound like anything?" she asked her.

Charity smiled as she kept tuning. "So long as they're string instruments, yes."

"Which song you gonna use this time?" wondered Sideswipe. He wisely dropped pronouns to keep Drift in the dark as much as possible. He might _suspect_ Sentenza was the one beyond the wall, be he didn't actually _know_ for sure. Not really. And Frostbite would prevent him from getting too close. Drift respected the Canipid too much to let his curiosity get the better of him.

"Give me a moment and you'll hear. It's one of the first Earth songs I learned."

The medic finished her tuning after a minute or so more. Then the real music began. It started off beautiful enough with some gentle string strumming, but when her voice joined in, Hank honestly couldn't believe her own ears:

" _Hush now, my_ _stóirín,_

 _Close your eyes and sleep._

 _Waltzing the waves,_

 _Diving the deep._

 _Stars are shining bright,_

 _The wind is on the rise,_

 _Whispering words of long lost lullabies._

 _Oh, won't you come with me,_

 _Where the moon is made of gold?_

 _And in the morning sun, we'll be sailing._

 _Oh, won't you come with me,_

 _Where the ocean meets the sky?_

 _And as the clouds roll by_

 _We'll sing the song of the sea._

 _I had a dream last night,_

 _And heard the sweetest sound._

 _I saw a great white light,_

 _And dancers in the round._

 _Castles in the sand, cradles in the trees._

 _Don't cry – I'll see you by and by._

 _Rolling...Rolling...Rolling..._ "

The words faded to be replaced by more strumming. Hank listened, spellbound. Russell hadn't been kidding – not that she thought he'd been. There was just... _something_ about her voice that ensnared you in all the best ways. She chanced to glance at the aliens and saw similarly enraptured looks, even Drift. His mini-cons were another story, smiling and swaying to the song. And unless she was hearing things it sounded like a wolf was softly howling along with the music. Honestly she didn't blame Frostbite for singing along in his own way, perfectly harmonizing with the notes. It didn't ruin it. It made it better.

" _Oh, won't you come with me,_

 _Where the moon is made of gold?_

 _And in the morning sun, we'll be sailing free._

 _Oh, won't you come with me,_

 _Where the ocean meets the sky?_

 _And as the clouds roll by_

 _We'll sing the song of the sea..._ "

Her voice faded away alongside the strumming and the howling. No one dared speak and ruin the silence, not for at least two full minutes. In the end, the silence was broken when Charity put the instrument away by re-attaching it to her hip. Giving one last look beyond the walls, where she could just make out the Seeker's shelter and the faintly glimmering gold of Counterforce just beside it. He'd wanted to stay the night by her side, so she'd let him. Frankly, she didn't want to leave her alone after the "episode" on the ship. His unmoving frame showed he was already out, and if he was out the Seeker undoubtedly was as well. She'd check on them after a while to be sure.

"Come on." she said quietly, herding everyone back towards the commons where Strongarm waited in vehicle form, Denny nearby. "I think it's time our visitor headed home. It's getting late."

"Aww!" Hank protested. "Can't you do another?" Sideswipe and Russell looked to be very plainly on her side. They even tried to pull adorable puppy-dog faces with her to try to appeal to her. To their dismay the medic was immune to such emotional blackmail. Funny, Hank thought, that someone like her could ignore cuteness.

"One is usually enough." Charity supplied smilingly. "Besides, do you want to get grounded for not getting home on time? You wouldn't be able to visit for a while if that happened."

The girl considered and eventually shook her head. She said she'd go get her bike from where she'd left it. But a bird-like keen hinted someone might've already gotten around to fetching it. She looked up to find Zodiac flying in with a bike held by the handles in her talons. The bird-former placed the bike atop Strongarm and zipped off again, returning in mere moments with a few bungee cords and strapped it down for the trip. Then she flew off again, offering a farewell keen. Denny headed over to the disguised alien, who opened her driver's side door and let him in. He motioned for her to come on, get in. They needed to get going.

"Uh..." She hesitated for a split second before jogging towards the vehicle. She _had_ ridden on Backdraft earlier. How different could this be? At least this alien wasn't a trouble maker. While Backdraft _said_ he wouldn't cause trouble with the cops, and he seemed like the honest type, his own mischievous nature kind of...made those kinds of encounters more likely.

Strongarm's back seat door opened to let her in. It clicked shut, and her engine roared to life, headlights glaring. In a growl of her engine she circled around and headed for the opening gates. Charity waited till the gates shut to head off. Zodiac watched the cadet and her two passengers go from a perch in a tree near the gate.

Smokescreen's voice came to her over short-band: * _Hey, Zodiac? Could you fly above and keep an optic on things? Make sure they don't hit any trouble?_ *

* _Aye, aye._ *

Flapping her wings, Zodiac took off after Strongarm. Fortunately nothing happened en route, and after the bike and Hank had been dropped off at a suburban residence about twenty-five miles from Crown City, Strongarm drove Denny back to the salvage yard without incident. And the night had truly begun.

In a tree outside the walls an angular, shiny insect observed the comings and goings, ever patiently gathering intelligence.

* * *

 **Author's Note: And voila. :3 There'll be a bit more of a lull next chapter, but then it's onto the next crook. Seeing as Grimlock isn't the only beastie now, and Sentenza's there, and the Grey Ghost is a thing on Cybertron, that episode'll get _real_ interesting...;)**

 _ **Song of the Sea**_ **belongs to Nolwenn Leroy.**


	30. Chapter 30: Enter the Beast

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 30**

* * *

 _A shadow prowled the dimly lit halls._

 _Hunting._

 _Searching._

 _No sound came from it. None could see it._

 _Two red orbs of hell-fire pierced the gloom. There was something near. It could hear noises._

 _The shadow found a target. It did not recognize it but that mattered little. The shadow sensed evil, profound and foul, like an aura around its target. They never saw the shadow coming. A swing of a scythe, a gurgling scream of pain. The scythe was wrenched violently back and there came a heavy thud. A body with a slit neck now lay at the shadow's pedes. Energon that was not Energon pooled beneath the corpse. The shadow paid it no mind. It stepped around the body, avoiding the pool. That was one less threat. One less distraction. Now to find that thrice-cursed pirate who had dared attack the shadow outside. Any who dared strike it ensured their own deaths._

 _The shadow found a body in one of the chambers. The violence it had seen used on it made the shadow's blue blood boil. It sensed a lingering darkness. This was not the pirate's doing. The body had been there for many ages, rust coating its frame._

 _Abominations. The shadow would find them, and make them pay for their crimes. Just like that pirate._

 _It found an ally during the hunt. Strongarm. The Elite Guard cadet, while cautious, did not seem fully aware of the danger she was in. Out here in the halls she was an easy target. She stood out too much, and she was still in training. If one of the abominations found her she would not stand a chance. So the shadow darted forward noiselessly. Even as it did so, the banging of sealing bulkheads rang out. Further down the hall the bulkheads could be seen. The shadow cursed and lunged, grabbing the cadet and shoving her into a side chamber. It paid little mind to the shriek of confused fright she gave._

 _"Stay down. Stay quiet." the shadow hissed at her._

 _Strongarm's expression was scared and less-than-trusting but she did as told. Satisfied, the shadow slunk out. The shadow thus drew its weapon out and began slashing at one of the bulkheads trapping it like a caged rat. It soon realized such action was futile and began pacing restlessly. The shadow had to expect that the engineer had made it to the bridge and could undo the ship wide lock down. At least no one could reach the cadet because of it._

 _The memory shifted. The shadow was on the bridge now, having slunk in behind the pirate it was tracking. The shadow hung back, awaiting an opportunity. There were too many eyewitnesses for its liking. No getting around that. The shadow mentally snarled when the pirate went after that strange bounty hunter who had so recently arrived. That was all the incentive it needed. It slunk around, carefully avoiding the other mechs on the bridge_ – _especially the golden one. It had to admit itself impressed at the fiery Altihexian's flash of temper when the pirate tossed one of the mini-cons aside. Unexpected. And it gave the shadow the distraction it needed._

 _It struck._

 _A gurgled scream._

 _A red haze._

 _The shadow hissed a warning. The pirate looked horrified._

 _Another shift. The shadow now hunted in the halls once more. More gurgling cries of pain and fear. More._

 _And more._

 _Three more of the abominations fell to the shadow's burning red fang. One had been foolish enough to attempt to harm the cadet it had sheltered. Another attempted to run on sensing it. It was a pointless endeavor. The shadow soon cornered the abomination. It drove the red fang into its throat._

 _The choked, frightened cry echoed down the hall. The abomination grasped wildly at its throat to remove the blade. It failed. Then the cry gurgled away to nothing. The body crumpled to the floor with a thud. The red haze grew deeper. The shadow's other half struggled even more. The shadow's spark twinged on seeing what it had done. Horror trickled in, horror it did not feel as its own. The shadow hissed. Blast her other half. She was too weak._

 _A voice rasped in the shadow's mind:_

 _"Give in to the darkness, my little Tcsovan. You cannot fight me forever._ "

 _The red haze darkened._

 _"Sen'za? Sen'za, wake up!_ "

* * *

The Seeker screamed, clutching wildly at thin air, her optics still onlining and only able to see a blur of gold before her. She shied back into the shelter, trembling and wide-opticed. A shimmering gold and silver hand gingerly reached in, the form behind it still blurry. Gradually it became clearer. Her fear and shame did not abate. It only grew. She avoided the hand.

"It's alright, Sen. It's alright." the form reassured softly. "It's just me. You were having a night-terror. It's morning now. It's alright. Come on. Come out into the sun. You'll be safe out here."

She gave a relieved cry and flung herself at the Praxian. Her entire frame was wracked by her sobs. He held her – tightly, but not too tightly. It was a simple effort to try to steady her. Seeing her this way – weak, scared, hating herself – hurt him in a way words couldn't describe. Words alone would never fully encompass the pain the Seeker was going through. His spark cried out in agony. He could only imagine – no he couldn't imagine – what hers must be experiencing. A few tears of sympathy trickled out.

"Shh. Shh. It's alright. I've got you. I've got you..."

Neither of them noticed the bounty hunter watching them from around the corner of the wall, his normally stoic expression puzzled at what he saw. Even, perhaps, a touch sympathetic. He'd heard the frightened scream and had come to investigate, but did not approach to question them. Something was going on between these two – something deeply emotional. Romantic. Yes, that was it. He'd seen a hint of that on the Void Piercer. He was perceptive enough to catch onto it now. Something else was going on with the Seeker though. He wanted to know what. However, no one was being forthcoming.

He left them. He'd find out eventually. He knew something was wrong with her now. The others could not keep the secret forever.

* * *

A day went by. Two days. Nothing of particular note happened, for which everyone was secretly thankful.

Work on the pods proceeded, Windstorm switching between them and a dozen other small tasks to keep himself busy. He managed to give Sideswipe's longsword a bit more bite by giving it an electric discharge. It wasn't powerful (only about seven hundred volts) but it would definitely sting he'd assured him. The red mech seemed grateful for the upgrade – showing his gratitude by testing it out on an oblivious Strongarm's backstrut. He'd cackled when the femme had given a startled, shrieking yelp. However the tables had turned when Zodiac, perched nearby, keened and flew at him, pecking his helm crest violently. Strongarm had laughed as the Avioid astronomer had chased him off with gusto. For one so small she certainly had an attitude – especially about teasing it seemed.

Strongarm's own cross-bow like weapon was given an extra oomph of firepower on the second day. And she got Sideswipe back by blasting him in the chassis, knocking flat onto his rear end, dazed. Only Grimlock ambling in and drawing them apart kept the two from engaging in a no-holds-barred fight. They'd been kept as far away as possible from each other for the remainder of the day.

Bumblebee was worried to note that, during those forty-eight hours, Sentenza had avoided everyone, and dared not leave the safety of the salvage yard or her shelter. She remained cloaked as often as she could without burning through their fuel reserves. Drift became more and more curious, and it was all he and the Praxian could do to keep him in the dark. Counterforce, he, Charity, Smokescreen, and Sideswipe – even Russell and Denny – had all tried without success to convince her that she didn't need to hide. They understood that what had happened on the ship had been a freak anomaly. Sentenza was not convinced. On one of the rare instances she'd dropped her cloak the other day, the former scout had found her hunched up against the interior side of the east wall, expression close to dead. She hadn't seemed to notice he was there. She'd been staring at the ground, yellow optics dull. They were all of them beginning to lose hope.

Sentenza, it seemed, already had.

Now, later that same day, she had yet to stop hiding. A meeting was arranged between those closest to her while Drift was busy elsewhere. Slipstream and Jetstorm were occupied with Tumbler in the commons. Hopefully they wouldn't get too curious. They spoke in low tones just to be safe.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Sideswipe asked.

The Praxian near him shook his helm despairingly said told him: "I don't think there is, Sideswipe. I've tried. We've all tried. But once Sentenza has branded someone as a criminal it's an uphill battle to change her mind. She doesn't give that brand lightly. Only once she is certain is the individual branded. And that brand does not exclude her, I'm afraid. I wouldn't be surprised at this rate if she slapped the cuffs on her own wrists and turned herself over to Drift. Or tried to put herself in one of the pods. I wouldn't put that past her either."

"You really think she'd go that far?" Grimlock wondered. That second option seemed a little...extreme. Even for her.

Strongarm looked thoughtful. Her words came slowly, reluctantly. Counterforce's theories had the disturbing ring of truth to them.

"Remember what she said that one time: she'd do whatever's necessary to keep us all safe from the Nightdemon, criminals included. Turning herself in so she winds up in a maximum security prison – preferably in solitary confinement, I think – or a prison ship or putting herself into one of the stasis pods here – that may sound silly to you, but to her it fits in line with her own words. She may consider that necessary after what she did on the wreck. She may consider it _sensible_. In her position I know I would."

Grimlock fell silent. The femme had a dark point. Sentenza might just take her own words literally. She was the sort of person who would.

"What she needs is a therapist. A real one." Charity diagnosed softly. "And there aren't any here. I wish to Primus I were, but I'm not. I'm just a medic who happens to have a gift for music. I'm a far cry from Rung. Her depression is just worsening no matter what I try. Music can be an anti-depressant but it's not a permanent fix. If we don't find a way to alleviate that depression I'm worried she might..."

Bumblebee nodded grimly. He knew exactly what the medic was fearful of, and that possibility was getting closer than he cared to admit.

* * *

Steeljaw was pleased with what he was seeing so far. It seemed the Seeker was already on the path he wanted her going down, and he hadn't even tried anything to help that along yet. Sentenza's attack and murder spree had created the initial emotional breakage he'd been waiting for. Her guilty conscience was slowly weakening her resolve. Perhaps convincing her would not be as difficult as he had anticipated.

He still needed to get his claws on that photoharp though, needed to study it to see how he might use it as a weapon. Annoyingly, there hadn't been an opportunity for any of his pack to slip in and steal it. That blasted pacifist kept it on her nearly every klik of every solar cycle, magnetically attached to her hip. There was no real pattern to when she left it at her little medical station on one end of the yard. Sending any member of his pack to take it then could be disastrous. There were too many possible obstacles thanks to the Autobots' increased numbers – and the Nightdemon. The White Hound would smell them from a klick away, and then the Autobots would be on high alert. Stealth would become far too difficult. He needed a way to draw the Hound and the Demon away, but he would not risk his pack so readily. If the Demon so much as saw any of them they were scrap metal.

"Mm. Fracture?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know of any ways of fooling a Predacon's sense of smell?"

"A couple tried and tested methods, sure. But you're forgetting about the Hound's hearing – and the Avioid's sight. Their olfactory sensors may not be as powerful as most Preds but their vision is phenomenal. Tricking the audials and optics ain't so easy. Dunno enough about her, but I've heard certain Avioids can see right past stealth or illusion fields their optics are that sharp. That's why they're sometimes called the Optics of Primus. Airrazor and Divebomb wouldn't manage. We might as well be blind compared to them. Blind to an Avioid, deaf to a Canipid."

"Then we need someone unaffiliated with us. Another prisoner perhaps, a skilled thief?" He wanted that photoharp, and he wanted it quickly. He would need as much time as possible to study it, learn to use its power for harming rather than healing.

"Theys already got Filch." Thunderhoof growled.

"Please." Fracture snorted derisively. "Filch was an amateur. She's sloppy. There's gotta be other, more talented thieves on the Alchemor we could enlist. If I had a roster I might be able to point out some good ones."

"What about that combiner guy? Chop Shop?" Underbite suggested. "He's a conmech and a thief. We know the guy's still loose."

"Yeah. And he's basically working for them, dimwatt." snapped the bounty hunter. "Givin' 'em presents and supplies. Gimme a break. Guy's a suck up. He's under their thumb."

Steeljaw paid this bickering little mind. Instead he asked: "Fracture, can your micro-cams hack? Do they have that capacity"

Fracture hemmed. He admitted that with a little tinkering he might be able to outfit them with wires to hack the Alchemor's command console. He wasn't entirely sure. They weren't really designed for that sort of gig, and he was better with traps. It would take more time, but he might be able to whip up a simple activity tracking virus that would activate whenever the ship's manifest was brought up. Tricks like that had been used once or twice during the War apparently, to varying degrees of success. 'Course, if they had one of those cortical psychic patches all they would need to do is capture that rambling mini-con and pick his processor clean. But building one of those puppies from scratch was way beyond his pay grade. He was a bounty hunter, not a neuro-scientist.

"Then get to it. Which ever one works the best. We need a thief – a good one. And we need one soon."

* * *

It was now seventy-two hours after the incident on the wreck. The sun rose on what everyone hoped was a new day.

Sentenza still refused to emerge from hiding, remaining in her shelter. Counterforce refused to leave her side now, and he refused to leave it on previous nights. No one was willing to leave her isolated, uncertain of what she might attempt to do if left to her own devices. None of the Autobots were willing to take that risk. Even Drift admitted to that. He was no psychologist but he knew well enough the dangers that deep depression caused.

Slipstream and Jetstorm were busy trying to find the Seeker with help from Russell and a particularly vocal Tumbler. The calico cat mewled constantly in an effort to elicit a response from her. The mini-cons and Russell were of the same strategy, calling out Sentenza's name in what they sensed might be vain. They'd already searched her twilight shelter – empty. Tumbler had sniffed to ensure she wasn't simply hiding from sight. No target. They'd searched half the salvage yard by now. They were empty-handed.

"Perhaps she is shifting positions to avoid discovery?" Jetstorm suggested. This sort of behavior worried him. Anyone with a conscience might react in this sort of manner but the Seeker was taking this to a new extreme. Two straight solar cycles with virtually no interaction with anyone, and here they were possibly looking to add a third.

"Like going back to places we've searched?" Russell asked.

"Yes."

Russell sighed. The search was a lost cause then. They'd be searching in circles the whole day and they'd never find her. For a giant alien she was extremely good at avoiding others.

"Look. When she needs Energon she'll get some. At least then we'll know she's still alive. When that happens we can let CF keep an eye on her for a bit. He's the only one she'll let close right now aside from _maybe_ Sideswipe and Charity."

The trio were forced to admit defeat and turned around to return to the others. Tumbler continued her hunt without them. If the Seeker wanted to be found she would let herself be found. If she wanted to remain hidden there was a very low chance of anyone finding her through purposeful effort. She would just keep avoiding them just like she had been for the past two days straight. At least she was letting her close friends stay close; she wasn't pushing them away. All she was doing was hiding, staying away from them because she felt she didn't deserve to be around them. Sentenza wasn't a very hard femme to read when she was upset. Her reasons behind her acts were as clear as a clean windowpane.

They passed by Grimlock and Frostbite as they too went on the hunt for the Seeker. Slipstream informed them that Tumbler was busy looking for her as well. The two beast-formers went in search of the feline without delay, following her tell-tale mewling. About halfway down the isle Russell felt his jacket pocket buzz and vibrate. Quickly a hand flashed into the pocket and pulled out his smart phone. He was surprised to find it was Hank's number. He swiped and answered:

"Hank?"

" _Russell? Turn on the TV. Tune to 3157. Now._ "

He was taken aback by her abruptness: "Whoa. Um. Okay. Any reason for that channel?"

" _Just do it. You need to see this. Like, right now. I think it's right up your new alley._ "

"O-Okay. Hang on. I'm not actually in the commons right now. Can I put you on speaker?"

" _Sure. Just hurry._ "

Russell broke into a run, his phone in a vice grip in his hand. Behind him the mini-cons darted after him. Each demanded what it was that had caused the shift in velocity. Russell did not answer and instead sprinted the last few remaining yards into the commons in silence. Trying to talk and run was harder for a human than a Cybertronian since the latter didn't need to breathe the same way humans did. When they did reach the commons everyone present stopped to stare at them in confusion.

"Russell is on the line with an ally. There is something on the airwaves she wishes us to observe." Slipstream clarified in place of the breathless boy.

" _Just turn the TV on you guys!_ " Hank's voice reiterated. " _3157! Hurry! I'm not sure if they're gonna do a commercial break or not!_ "

Denny, being the master of the television set, snatched the remote and turned it on. Some quick, deft moves of his fingers and the channel in question was reached. It wasn't what anyone had been expecting. On the screen was shown a peculiar sight. Two robotic entities were squaring off with one another. One was plainly Earth-based, bearing a rather jury-rigged appearance of a three-horned dinosaur. An athletic female pilot sat in a cage just behind its metal frill. The other was something else entirely: a big, burly gorilla-like figure of dark cobalt and burgundy metal, far too advanced to belong to Earth. On its chest, backed by burgundy, was a purple Decepticon insignia. Neither competitor seemed to be ready to throw an attack just yet. They were sizing each other up.

"What in the...Hank, how do you know about the annual Crown City Rumble?" Denny demanded.

" _Long story. Tell it later. What the heck is that thing? Is he one of your convicts or something? He's got a weird badge on him. Is that some kind of criminal brand you guys use?_ "

"Decepticon crest." Bumblebee noticed. "Fix-It, is he on the roster?"

Fix-It appeared to be transfixed on the screen, his big baby blue optics round in what looked like wonder. Well that was an odd reaction.

"I don't even need the roster, sir!" he said excitedly. "Why, why – this – I can't believe you don't know who that is! That's the Beast of Kaon, the Pulverizer of the Pits! That's –"

"Groundpounder." finished Counterforce grimly. "This is not good."

Drift eyed the Praxian oddly. Counterforce was an optimist – a cautious one but an optimist all the same. He'd gathered that from the few bounties he'd assisted him with in the past. Ergo if he said this was not good...it _definitely_ was not good. The bounty hunter seemed to recall something about the mech in question on the screen. Criminal activity definitely but he could not recall what the crime was off hand. He had not assisted on Groundpounder's particular case or really paid attention to it. He'd been on the other side of Cybertron at the time hunting another quarry.

"Who's Groundpounder?" Sideswipe wondered.

"Professional gladiator." Counterforce clarified quickly. His expression was not pleased. Denny might have almost called it grave. Worried for sure.

Strongarm could've sworn she heard Bumblebee and Smokescreen snort derisively, but she did see them share looks that were far from impressed. Frostbite growled, heckles rising. His serrated claws dug into the dirt.

" _What was a professional fighter doing on a prison ship_ _anyway_?" demanded Hank over the phone's speakers. " _What'd he do wrong? I'm not gonna ask what he's doing at the Rumble. That's pretty obvious knowing who he is now. He wants back in the ring. He's after the thrill and the attention._ "

Fix-It tore himself away from the screen long enough to zip up into the command center and look into the prisoner manifest. The golden Praxian kept his own optics on the screen, observing what could well turn into a bloody, possibly deadly fight. That human and her construct wouldn't stand even a fiber's width of a chance against him. Neither was equipped to deal with a professional Cybertronian pit-fighter.

"Hmm. Manifest notes here say that Groundpounder and his manager Headlock were found and accused of cheating through the use of Synth-En and banned from any and all rings. I'm paraphrasing of course. The notes are a lot more complex than that. Apparently Groundpounder had been dosing on the stuff for some time. Terrible loss if you ask me. He was one of the best."

"Wait. This guy got arrested for cheating?" Sideswipe ridiculed. "Seriously? That's it?"

"No." Bumblebee retorted with heat. "He got arrested because he tore up the arena he was accused in and went on a rampage through Kaon's South Quadrant thanks to the Synth-En in his systems. Tore up a quarter of the place and pounded a dozen pursuers before officers could subdue him. Headlock was found later by one of Predaking's boys trying to get out of the city. Darksteel gave him quite a few scars to remember him by. Badly damaged one of his optics if I remember right. Useless now."

Frostbite growled over the common frequency: [Deceiving brings only shame. No honor or glory in a lie.]

"Well said, Frosty." approved Smokescreen. "I mean, I don't approve of Darksteel nearly ripping Headlock's optic out – that's excessive – but I get the point you're making. Don't tarnish your reputation by breaking the rules. Doesn't even matter if you lose so long as you're a good sport about it. Losing with honor is equal to winning with honor."

" _But all that pro-fighting stuff you guys do is staged, right?_ " Hank wondered. " _Just like fights on Earth. No one actually gets hurt? It's all just smoke and mirrors_ – _y'know, to impress the audience and make them think they're really going at it. Even the Rumble is at least partially staged. The fighters are safe in their cages on their mechas and they all wear protective gear like helmets and pads and stuff. The mechas get damaged, not the fighters. Worst injuries the fighters get are just bruises._ "

The look on his father's face just then nearly made Russell laugh. He can't believe his dad had never caught onto that! Even _he_ knew that. God. His dad could be so oblivious sometimes.

"Gladiatorial combat is _very_ real and _very_ dangerous on Cybertron, young lady. For one of the _kzal'tq_ – the warrior class – it is the ultimate test of their skills. A gladiator risks his or her very life once they step into the ring to battle." Drift explained. "Granted those death matches are in themselves illegal and anyone involved in one is heavily prosecuted. But extensive bodily harm, even permanent damage, is a threat even in a _valgotha ae qi'iekal_ – a 'safe' match."

" _Whoa. You guys take this sort of thing seriously, huh?_ "

"Yep." Backdraft said simply. "Personally I think those gladi fighters are crazy. There're other, better ways of gettin' attention, y'know?"

"Says the guy who jumps off buildings for fun." Sideswipe teased, elbowing him.

Backdraft merely grinned and rolled his amber optics, unperturbed. He elbowed him back.

"Sirs," Strongarm prompted, staring at the screen beneath her, "There's a dangerous alien gladiator in a ring full of easily over a thousand humans who is currently fighting a human in a mecha construct. That's a formula for disaster. The human fighter could get severely injured or killed despite the protective cage and equipment, not to mention all the people in the stands who have no protection whatsoever! Protocol in a situation like this demands civilians be evacuated. I'm not even sure how we'd _do_ that in this setting. They're oblivious to the danger, we can't gain access to the premises without permits, and we can't go in en masse either."

No one said anything for a while. The fighters on the screen were still sizing each other up. Any moment now that could change for the worse. Groundpounder had a reputation for extreme violence in the ring, and despised to lose. Getting in to subdue him was a challenge in itself. They couldn't simply waltz in. Not only was that a bad idea it would also possibly make the problem worse by giving the gladiator more targets to attack. More targets meant greater collateral damage. This was a problem that demanded a smart solution.

"What if I go in as a mecha? Those things look a little like Dinobots. I could get in and brawl with him." Grimlock suggested.

"Absolutely _not._ " Charity nearly snapped, whirling on him in a flash. "I haven't given you medical clearance to get back in the field. Your repair systems are working slower on rations. Your joint may be back in place but that fracture I found could be worsened with one well-placed hit to that region! No. I forbid it. You're in no state to be brawling with a professional gladiator – which, need I remind you, you are _not._ "

Stunned at her little outburst, Grimlock fell silent. He even took a step back. Charity realized what she'd just done and hung her helm.

"I'm sorry. But I'm not willing to let you risk your personal health, Grimlock. The risks outweigh the advantages of that plan. You're staying here until I deem you fit to return to active duty."

"No, wait." Bumblebee interrupted all of a sudden, gesticulating eagerly. "I think that's a brilliant idea!"

"I'm sorry?" the femme medic asked. "Just because you outrank me does not give you the authority to override the Triage Code and let him go ahead with this lunacy."

"No, no. The _idea_ is a brilliant one. We just won't be using Grimlock as the undercover agent. There _is_ someone else here who looks like an animal..."

He turned to the icy-colored Canipid still softly growling at the television. Other optics soon followed his. Frostbite took notice of the scrutiny and looked at the gathered assembly whose optics were riveted on him. His helm tilted to the side as he read the unspoken suggestion. Then his audials flattened against his helm. He whined and took a half-step back.

[Oh. Oh, no. No. _Not_ qualified to be facing Groundpounder. No. Bad idea. _Very_ bad idea. I'm still in training as a warrior! I'm just a hunter! Search-and-rescue worker if needed!]

"Frostbite. Come on, pal. You're the only one of us besides maybe 'Zee who can pass as a mecha construct." Russell encouraged. "If you don't go through with this a lot of innocent people could get hurt or killed. You're a rescue worker, right? This is a rescue. It's just gonna mean some fighting. And having someone ride in a cage on your back."

Still the Canipid's audials remained flattened. Still he whined in uncertainty.

A sigh met the ears and audials of the gathered.

"Look. Frostbite." Zodiac started. "I'm probably going to regret offering this. Actually I _know_ I am because this is the sort of thing I try to avoid because it's not only performing with a large audience it's also fighting...but what if I went in with you? I could maybe pass as a remote controlled aerial drone or something so long as either Denny or Russell brings a remote controller for that kind of thing. Uh, you do have one of those lying around here somewhere, right?"

" _I do_." Hank stated. " _I could stay on the sidelines where it's safe and pretend to control you. That okay, Zodiac?_ "

"I guess so. Still not thrilled about this." She shuddered. "All those people...I really hope I don't lock up and royally screw us over."

"Whoa, whoa. Hang on!" Denny argued. "Hank, you won't be able to get in in the first place! You're too young! You have to be at least eighteen to get in as a competitor! And have either a learner's permit or a driver's license!"

" _Oh that won't be a problem. Trust me._ " she assured slyly. " _You guys grab what you need, I'll grab the controller, and we'll meet at the Thunderdome downtown. Hurry!_ "

The line went dead. Russell blinked.

"Well. I guess we're doing this."

"Then let's go find us a cage. I know I got one lying around here somewhere. Think it's in the sports section. Strongarm, Backdraft, Windstorm. Come on. No time to lose!"

The owner of the salvage yard and his select three assistants went off.

"Fix-It, get coordinates cued up for the Thunderdome." Smokescreen ordered. "Soon as they get that cage on Frostbite they'll need to book it. A small number of 'bots will go with them in case things go south in the ring and Frostbite and 'Zee need an assist."

Bumblebee nodded approval. Good plan. Couldn't be too careful with a situation like this. One slip up and thousands of innocent civilians could get in a world of hurt. If things did go wrong it was always a good idea to have a back-up plan ready and waiting. Ultra Magnus had really curbed his former impulsiveness it seemed. He didn't jump in blindly and improvise as he had done so often in the past. Smokescreen was a lot more careful now. As a lieutenant to the Elite Guard he didn't have any other option.

Think it out or screw up everything – that was pretty good incentive.

* * *

Once Denny located the cage in question, Strongarm had plucked it up as if it were nothing more than a feather and headed back to the commons where Frostbite was. The Canipid himself was pacing back and forth anxiously, whining to himself. Slipstream, Jetstorm, and Russell were trying to keep the wolf calm. Zodiac was even worse off, shivering in bird form and twittering to herself. She looked close to tears. Smokescreen was holding the small hawk and stroking her back the same way an owner might stroke an agitated pet. It seemed that only that steady motion was what was keeping her from devolving into a mass of tears and nerves.

No one had quite realized until that moment how bad Zodiac's stage fright really was.

On the television the fight had begun. The mecha fighter was skillful. How long that skill would hold out was anyone's guess. Groundpounder was utterly ruthless, pounding the mecha and tossing it about like a particularly heavy weight. Outmatched as she was, the mecha fighter refused to surrender. She fought back with equal zeal though her attacks barely left a scratch on her opponent. Perhaps unconsciously she understood the threat that winning might bring and so was instead stalling until help could arrive.

"Hurry!" Slipstream pleaded. "Once Groundpounder is finished with his opponent there is no telling what he might do!"

"Backdraft, help me weld this on. Windstorm, keep it steady." was all Strongarm said.

The engineer and the stunter went to work. Frostbite did not fidget despite him clearly wanting to. He merely contented himself to continue whining, casting worried glances at the feed on the screen. In short order the cage was welded to the Canipid's back. The interior was just big enough for Denny if he hunched over a little; the man refused to let his son into a dangerous situation like this. He was older. He had experience. And he was a pretty good actor, too. He had a better chance of getting in. He still had no idea how Hank planned on getting in though. She'd sounded pretty confident she could get in despite the rules. It forced him to ask that ever simple question: _Why_? Why was she so confident?

Fix-It flipped the lever remotely on the groundbridge control and the portal swirled open. Everything indicated the portal was safe but he wasn't "holding his breath" as the humans said. Two successful 'bridges might just be sheer dumb luck on their part. There was no way of telling whether or not this third one would be subject to that same luck. They might end up an entire state away.

Frostbite knelt and let Denny enter the cage. Once certain the man was situated properly he rose and headed for the portal. Having a cage on his back was not something he was used to. It felt ungainly. Having Denny ride bare-back would've have been easier but this at least offered him some protection.

"Drift, 'Bee, Strongarm, you're coming with as back-up." Denny said. "We need some people here on standby and some people to stay behind to keep an eye on our resident Seeker. Can't go leaving her alone right now, not in the state she's in."

Helms nodded in comprehension. Drift cast a curious glance back towards the isles. He had yet to lay optics on the Seeker since the morning after the deep sea wreck mission. The scene he had witnessed then flashed in front of his optics in vivid clarity. So far as he knew neither had seen him.

Zodiac twittered nervously and tried to hunch into a small feathered ball in Smokescreen's arms.

"Hey, come on. You're a Sky Painter. Even if you're scared scrapless this sort of thing is in your core coding. You'll do fine. If you need support or tips, ask me or 'Bee or anyone. 'Kay? You'll do fine. Calm down."

The little Avioid seemed to get a grip on her panic. She fluttered out of his arms and hovered beside Frostbite unsteadily before deciding to alight on top of the cage. Strongarm, Drift, and Bumblebee transformed and rolled to his side. As though coming to a silent agreement the three city-dwellers let Frostbite, Strongarm, and Zodiac roll through first. The two mechs went in moments later.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Decided to add a little flavor to Groundpounder's and Headlock's little rap sheets. We know thanks to Ratchet in Prime that Synth-En is a kind of performance enhancer made from incomplete cyber-matter. It also, remember, rendered the target emotionally volatile which thus helps explain his devastating anger after being called a cheat and banned. One of Headlock's optics is also badly damaged. I came up with a little backstory for that as well.**


	31. Chapter 31: Devil's Due

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 31**

* * *

In a two story house on Crown City's suburban Highgate Court, Hank Green was busy hastily rummaging through her room for a large quad-copter controller. She swore she'd seen one lying around just the other day. Zodiac was a pretty big bird. The controller would need to be big enough to be convincing. Too small and the Rumble's proprietors would get suspicious of her. If she was gonna act a part it had to be believable.

"Ugh. Where is it? Where?" she wondered aloud.

She rummaged through her dresser – nope. Closet? Nada. Nightstand drawer was too crowded to hold a controller so she didn't even bother opening it to look. Every minute spent here looking for the prop would be time that the giant alien gladiator could use to pound the poor participants and maybe turn on the audience afterwards. She really didn't want to ask her dad but it was looking like her only option at this rate. Hopefully she could lie well enough to fool him. If she fudged and her dad called her out she was totally in trouble with the Autobots. She'd given her solemn word not to tell another human being.

Hank thus sprinted out of her room and down the steps two at a time. She swung around into the study where her father, a tall, athletic man with short brown hair wearing a green polo shirt and khakis, was busy tinkering on something or other at his desk. If one looked closely one could see that one leg was in a permanent brace and his athletic build did not extend fully to his legs any longer. His head swung around to look at her, his matching caramel eyes confused despite the friendly smile. He adjusted his thin, stylish wire-frame glasses.

"Something up, Henri?" he asked. "Heard you moving around a lot up there."

"Dad, you got a spare quad-copter controller lying around somewhere? A big one?"

Johnathan Green's expression became even more confused. That was an odd request. Hank was more into sports than anything mechanical, though she did display some aptitude in automotive repair. One eyebrow rose inquisitively.

"Sure. In my chest over there. But what do you –?"

Before he could even finish his question his daughter had wrenched open his trunk of heyday souvenirs, mementos, and portable gear from his past career, grabbed what she needed and bolted out of the room. He sat there blinking for a moment, adjusting his glasses a few times as if the act would help make things clearer. He heard her call out "Thanks, dad! Be back in a bit!" and then the front door shut. He returned to his tinkering somewhat reluctantly. He swore some days that a malfunctioning mecha was easier to understand than his own daughter. He smiled a little when he heard the door open again. Hank re-appeared, a strand of hair hanging down over her forehead and making her look rather ruffled.

"Can I get a ride to the Thunderdome?"

He stared again. "The Thunderdome? What for?"

"Dad, please." she begged. "It's urgent. And I'm under orders not to talk about it with anyone, including family. Okay? Just trust me on this. I'm trying to help and time's wasting. I'd call a friend for a ride but their ride's a little on the wonky side, y'know? Not very reliable. Could break down at any moment. It's too far to bike."

Her father gave in with good humor: "Alright, alright. I'll take you. Your mother's busy at work at her downtown office. Seems I'm your only option." he joked lightly.

Johnathan Green rose from his seat. In spite of the brace on his left leg he walked well. Only the slightest limp and a plain favoring of his left leg betrayed that he suffered an old injury that hadn't healed perfectly. Hank winced. She felt bad rushing him but getting arrested for taking the family truck on a joyride wouldn't help anyone. Her mother was at work and she had no siblings to hitch a ride with. Well, maybe she could pay him back. The girl darted ahead of him into the kitchen, grabbed the keys from the table, and vanished outside and into the vehicle. The vehicle was unlocked, the ignition button pressed, and the truck rumbled to life with a feline purr of its engine. Her father joined her after about thirty seconds. He took the wheel, backed out, and soon they were on the highway that headed into downtown.

"Sure I can't I ask what this is all about?" he asked after about fifteen minutes of awkward, tense silence.

Hank frowned as she looked out the windshield. Crown City drew nearer. She just hoped she got there in time before the shinola really hit the fan.

"Probably better you didn't. All I'll say is that it involves the Rumble. And just drop me off. I don't want reporters or cameramen mobbing you or anything."

"You sure? You say it involves the Rumble. I could help with this if you need me to. I haven't been in the ring for years, and I look a bit different now. I could pass a regular dad taking her daughter to see the mecha fighters duke it out."

She considered. Hank's last wish was for her dad to get back into the ring. But perhaps he didn't need to get into the ring itself. Groundpounder had a coach all his own. Why couldn't she? At least hers wouldn't be as crooked as the thread of a bent screw. And admittedly it was a long shot but maybe he could offer some tips to Denny and Frostbite.

"Well..." she started. "When you put it that way I guess it would be real nice to have a coach..."

Johnathan Green's head jerked over to stare at her.

"I'm sorry? Coach? Henri, you're not going to try to get in are you? You're too young! You don't have a license or training! You don't even have a mecha!"

"Wrong." Hank said. "I do. Just don't ask where I got it when you see it. I'm not gonna be in the ring, dad. I'm gonna be on the sidelines controlling a drone. That's why I need the controller. The one it came with is bust. It's safe. Er, more or less..."

Her father looked less than convinced of her story but he nonetheless agreed to the terms so long as she stayed out of the ring. He would even help her get in. His daughter wasn't one for blatant, elaborate deceptions like this. Whenever she lied it was for a reason. Normally all he had to do was ask for that reason. Here, Henrietta was under orders from someone not to tell that reason. This was just getting more bizarre by the minute. It left him concerned. What was Henri not telling him about the Rumble? And why was she lying?

* * *

Frostbite, Zodiac, and Strongarm arrived in the sprawling parking lot outside the Thunderdome, very near one of the vehicle storage bays that were used to house competing mechas. The instant the Canipid saw it his nervous whining returned. Zodiac gave one look at it, her optics rolled to the back of her helm, and she toppled over like a felled tree on top of the cage. Denny winced. Poor bird just wasn't built to be around crowds it seemed. He hoped she could keep it together long enough to take out Groundpounder. He tapped the unconscious form a few times until her optics opened back up.

"Hey, take it easy. You'll do great. Just take some deep breaths, alright? In –" The man demonstrated. "And out." He released the air slowly. "Come on. With me. In. And out. In. And out. Think positive. Your whole tribe're performers back home, right? And you were raised as one of them. It's in your blood. Er, Energon I guess. Once you get in there I'm pretty sure instinct will take over."

The Avioid followed the little calming regime. That and the encouraging words did seem lessen her anxiety by a fraction. At the very least she didn't faint when she turned her blue gaze back towards the stadium. She shivered and looked sick. That was about it. She turned to look behind her for Drift and 'Bee, Frostbite, Denny and Strongarm following suite out of instinct. She was kind of relying on the two mechs as moral support. But they never came through and the groundbridge closed. The Avioid's panic returned full force. Strongarm opened a line back to Fix-It through the Alchemor's communication relays, anxiously demanding where the two mechs were, as they hadn't come through.

[What? They didn't?] Fix-It sounded astonished.

"No." Strongarm confirmed. "They followed us through the vortex alright, but they never exited behind us."

[One klik, please. I'll scan for their spark signals. Windstorm is going over the data from the groundbridge portal. Something must've yawn – dawn – _gone_ wrong. They did go in a few moments after you did. Ah! Signals isolated! They're...oh. Oh, dear. Well, that's unfortunate. They're roughly one hundred thirty-two klicks north from your current position in the state of Oregon.]

"What?" Strongarm cried. "How did they wind up there?!"

Windstorm's voice joined in then: [Hmm. It looks like the vortex became unstable after they went through. Cause uncertain. The exit destination altered in real time while they were still within the passage, resulting in Continuum Y, the exit vortex, being shifted to a different location. That Continuum did not vanish as you thought you saw. It was transferred elsewhere. Continuum X, the entrance vortex, remained largely unaffected, being a set location and contained within the arch. Still, I am finding some peculiar instabilities and energies from it. I'm not an expert. I'm not sure if I can isolate the cause. I would need to get this data to a groundbridge technician on Cybertron. Fuse, preferably. I-I can't make helm or heel strut of this.]

The cadet cut to the chase: "Can't you 'bridge them back here? Try again?"

[Inadvisable, I think.] Windstorm said. [This was a fairly minor dislocation. If we were to try again the distance might be even greater. They might even be dislocated onto another continent altogether. No, Drift and Lieutenant Bumblebee were exceedingly lucky this time. It would be more efficient for them to simply drive back. If they remain on the main highway and keep up speed they should reach Crown City in roughly two hours.]

Zodiac promptly fainted again. Denny frowned. This was not going as smoothly as he'd hoped. Hopefully Hank would be here soon. Time was a-wasting. He didn't know how long she'd take so they should probably go on and head in. Frostbite might be able to minimize damages and stall for time long enough for Hank and Zodiac to join the fray. Hank didn't live that far away, and she was no doubt already en route.

"Come on, Frostbite." the man said. "Let's get you checked in. There's an entrance right up there. See it?" He pointed.

Frostbite bobbed his helm slightly to let the man know he saw. Then he began to pad forward. Strongarm tried to follow them a short distance but remained where she was when Frostbite turned and growled at her in his primal language to stay where she was. The cadet capitulated. She was just the backup. She just didn't want the White Hound going in alone with a human on his back. That cage would not do much to stop Groundpounder's fists. Another growl made the Avioid on top of the cage flitter off and perch on her canopy. Strongarm suggested she get in back so that passerby wouldn't see her right away. Zodiac twittered and did as told, making herself comfortable in one of the back seats in a rather cat-like fashion. She wasn't much bigger than Fix-It so she fit pretty well. She seemed to appreciate the comfort of the cushions, curling up like a feathered cat in one seat.

Both femmes watched as Denny led Frostbite up to the gate...

* * *

Frostbite prided himself on maintaining a calm disposition during rescue work. Panicking did little to improve a dangerous situation, almost always making it worse. There were thousands of scents coming from the stadium, specifically three thousand six hundred and two. Even one casualty was unacceptable. But could he even manage to pull this off? This was his largest scale rescue to date.

' _No. Focus. No time for worry._ ' he told himself. ' _Just keep Groundpounder in the ring. Herd him._ '

He stopped when Denny told him to via Bluetooth. They hadn't had time to implement fake controls so they had to hope the admittance officer believed their story of touch pad-based control enough to let them in. Hopefully he wouldn't even ask.

"Another contestant, huh?" asked the burly man in the blue and grey suit before them. Sunglasses hid his eyes.

"Yep." Denny answered.

The man sized up Frostbite. He removed the glasses to reveal his smokey blue eyes keenly examining him. He let out an impressed whistle. Rider didn't look like much but damn was his rig impressive. The details on it were top notch. He swore he even saw the rig's chest moving. Funny. Rigs normally had cooling fans but he'd never seen one breathe before. He wondered how that worked in this thing. Curiously enough, when he came in closer to scrutinize the underbelly it stopped moving. Huh. Thing was so life-like he must have imagined it.

"Name and license." the admittance officer asked in a brisk, professional tone.

Denny hopped out of the cage to verify. He glanced back quickly to mouth to the wolf to remain still. Frostbite pinged him on his Bluetooth and went rigid. He did not intake air nor move any gear in his body. Denny finished in only a minute and hoped back in. The man on the ground nodded them in with a wish for good luck and a warning to be careful – the newcomer had wrecked every competitor, and the Mechalosaurus pilot was still locked with the new guy. Double teaming normally wasn't allowed but hey, maybe they could do it this once. Crowd would love it. Denny put a hand on the wolf's mesh and he strode forward in a distinctly mechanical way. It felt wrong. His movements were usually fluid. When he got into the ring his movements would return to normal. He had to hope the spectators would be too focused on the fight to care about technicalities.

"Hey, buddy!" the man called back.

Frostbite froze. Denny tensed.

"Yeah?" Denny wondered.

"Your rig got a name?"

"Fr–" Denny began. He stopped himself. Using Frostbite's actual name would remove any element of surprise they had on Groundpounder. Names were always announced moments before the competitor was let into the ring to brawl. So instead he answered: "Wolfsbane."

The other man grinned. "Good name. Lot more original than Mechalosaurus if you ask me. Rolls off the tongue better. See if you can teach the new guy a lesson in sportsmanship, will ya?"

"Oh, we will." Denny assured. "Wolfsbane's got more than a few tricks up his sleeve..."

And so the wolf and his rider headed into the dark entry tunnel. Frostbite's processor nearly glitched as it tried to compute the thousands of individual smells and sounds coming from beyond the lowered slab of metal that acted as a hypogeum gate. Over the roar of the crowd he could discern the loud crash as the human pilot and her mecha were tossed, and the shrieking grinds as its metal hide dragged along the ground. He heard its engine rev to little effect. To get something that size back up would require multiple hands. He didn't even need to strain his hearing the pick up Groundpounder's shout of victory and demand he be proclaimed the winner of the Rumble. Growling, Frostbite paused just behind the gate, doing his best not to get queasy. If he screwed this up, things could get ugly – and fast. A voice boomed over the stadium's loudspeakers, cutting off Groundpounder unceremoniously:

" _Looks like we've got a new challenger everyone! Last minute sign-up! Please give a rumbling Crown City roar for...Wolfsbane!_ "

The gate rose as Frostbite and Denny steeled themselves. He stepped out of the shadowed hypogeum and into the light. Startled oohs and aahs filled the stadium. His sharp hearing picked up impressed comments about his design. A small part of him felt proud and even a little smug. Denny grinned dangerously. Time to get this show on the road. He tapped Frostbite's mesh and whispered into his Bluetooth:

"Alright, pal. Give 'em a howl. Put the fear in this guy. Show 'im we ain't messing around."

Frostbite lowered his helm to where it looked behind him from beside his right foreleg. The crowd fell silent. Seizing the moment he lifted his helm, threw it back, and unleashed the most oil-chilling, bone-freezing howl he could muster. It echoed around the stadium, becoming even eerier as it repeated and faded at the same time. Another touch on his mesh and Frostbite assumed a combat stance. There was silence in the crowd. Then the entire stadium erupted in cheers, hoots, and hollers. The wolf did his best not to behave in any way confused or startled. Groundpounder wheeled to face them. What looked an awful lot like startled recognition flashed in his optics, directed not at Frostbite himself but the crest on his upper chest. Groundpounder's expression turned wrathful now that the attention was off him and his victory was in jeopardy.

"Nice rig, dude!" shouted the Mechalosaurus pilot from across the arena. She was busy trying to right her mecha with some help from a few Rumble workers. "That thing's beastly! You make it yourself?"

"What?! A Well Guardian?" cried Groundpounder. "What're you doing here?!"

The wolf growled. Much as he wanted to pin his audials back he refrained. From the looks of the other mecha they were not intended to be realistic or mobile. They were intended more as tanks jury-rigged from common vehicles and personalized. His design would let him get around the mobility issue, but he'd still have to play this carefully.

"You wanna dance, big guy?" Denny challenged. "Let's do-si-do!"

A tap on the wolf's back and Frostbite surged forward in an icy blur of zigzagging movement, snarling and fangs bared. Groundpounder bellowed and charged in to meet them in the center of the ring. He swung a massive fist at him in a horizontal arc. Frostbite leapt over him, sunlight flashing off his icy blue hide, and landed in a skidding thud behind him.

"Too slow!" Denny teased. "I've seen semis hit better speeds than that on the highway!"

Groundpounder snarled and went after him again, leaping into the air to smash the wolf and his rider into a pancake. Frostbite dove out the way and headed for the high wall that separated the ring from the stands. Skidding to a stop on a near dime, he darted back in the opposite direction. Unable to stop as quickly, Groundpounder rammed into the wall. He turned in time to have a set of long horns jam into the concrete and pin him. Fire was exhaled from the beast's nostrils, scorching the pit-fighter's mesh. Then the rig backed off, engine grumbling. She didn't have much fire fuel left.

"I got your back, dude!" declared the female pilot. "Let's waste this sore loser!"

"Let's!"

* * *

" _Looks like we got an unscheduled double-team going here people! This'll be interesting!_ "

Zodiac had managed to convince Strongarm to hack into the live broadcast coming from the announcer's box in the stadium. She'd helped, of course. Being a ship captain required you to know the basics of communication arrays. Human systems were childishly simple in comparison to the variable frequency ones she worked with on the _Bolt_. From the sounds of it Frostbite and Denny were off to a good start. How long that good start would last...she wasn't willing to postulate.

' _Oh, come on._ ' Smokescreen argued. ' _This show-off's got nothing on the Grey Ghost. You and I both know that.'Bee does, too. He's a total phony compared to him._ '

' _Need I remind you the Grey Ghost is not here and he never dosed on Synth-En._ '

' _He was a Herald of the Unmaker._ ' Smokescreen reminded her. ' _And a former pit-fighter himself. Slagging good one._ '

Her optics narrowed. ' _...That Herald thing doesn't count. That's not even applicable anymore!_ '

' _When I manage to find him for once I'll be sure to tell him that. He'd disagree with you_.'

" _Oh! And it looks like Wolfsbane is living up to its name! Those fangs punched right through that metal! Oh! Oh! He's on him! Holy moley! The servos in this thing are like nothing I've ever seen here before! Talk about impressive! Look at those clawed paws go to work!_ " said the Rumble announcer.

" _I'll say,_ _Dan_!" agreed another. " _Don't think the champ was expecting that from our new guy!...Oh! Ouch! And the champ gets in a vicious counter swing! But looks like Wolfsbane is not givin' in without a fight! He's really not going down! And off he goes again with his cat-and-mouse strategy! Ashley sure ain't makin' life any easier for the champ, either! Looks like they're tag teaming him!_ "

" _Makes sense, Josh. The newcomer's got strength on his side, but Wolfsbane's got speed and agility thanks to his greater mobility. There's always an advantage to four legs over two._ _And Wolfsbane's pilot sure seems to know that! Meanwhile, Ashley's got pure horse-power on her side. If our champ isn't careful he's gonna get slammed!_ "

"Zodiac?"

The Avioid jumped in spite of herself.

"Yeah?"

"We have an incoming target. Coming from around the west side of the stadium. I can't see that far without the use of my optics, and my scanners aren't telling me enough. What do you see?"

Zodiac scrambled into the passenger seat and leaned forward on the dashboard. Her optics narrowed as they zoomed in. It was a truck, a nice one and in good upkeep, and sitting in the passenger seat was a familiar teen femme wearing her trademark yellow shirt and red vest. Behind the wheel was an older male who looked quite similar to her. She had to assume that was her father and he'd given her a lift since the girl lacked a driver's license. She gave a happy keen in her own language. Strongarm sorely regretted never taking any of the Predacon language courses the Elite Guard offered. She promised herself she would once she got back home. Her radio pinged, and she answered.

"Hello?"

" _Hey, Zaylee?_ " Hank asked. " _Where are you?_ "

Strongarm assumed she was talking to Zodiac due to the similarity in nomenclature and answered: "White and blue all-terrain pick-up. Hard to miss."

" _Hang on, we need to get to the isles.'_ There was a about a minute pause as the truck snaked up and down the packed isles near the dome. ' _Oh! Wait! There she is! Over there, dad!_ "

The incoming truck hung a left around a row of vehicles and came down the isle towards Strongarm. Hank popped the passenger door open and jumped out. Her father found a spot near Strongarm and pulled the vehicle in, set it in park, shut off the engine and came up himself. The cadet was curious to note the brace on his legs. Braces were normally used to help keep structural supports in place in both their species to aid the healing process of an injury, and they weren't permanent. Was the injury new? Or was the brace permanent for some reason?

"So where's your friend, Henri?" he asked as he looked around, shading his spectacled eyes from the sun.

"Oh! Zaylee went on into the 'dome." Hank lied calmly. "She left me a present in her car. Come on! Check it out! It's awesome!"

Hank went around to the more spacious back seat and pulled it open. Her father gave an impressed whistle at the immobile, life-like Avian form perched within, head bowed forward. The sheer detail on the mecha was absolutely astonishing. The man let his jaw drop. He didn't know who Zaylee was exactly but the woman had a gift in his opinion. He'd never seen anything so advanced or beautiful before. He reached in to touch it only to yelp when it jerked away from his hand and gave what sounded like a nervous little keening noise. Vibrant royal blue optical sensors that shone with a light all their own appraised him warily. Hundreds of once dim lights flickered to life on its body. He stared back.

Hank smacked a hand to her forehead. "Nice going, bird-brain." she muttered, glaring at Zodiac.

The metal avian looked embarrassed and hung its head. Johnathan Green turned his focus on his daughter.

"Henrietta Clara Sophia Green." he said slowly. "What in the world is going on here?"

The girl groaned and snapped impatiently: "Dad, it's super complicated and I'm not allowed to tell without permission. Okay? Besides, there's no time. We need to get into the dome before Mr. Clay and his mecha get hurt! There's a rouge mecha in there. He's big, he's strong, and he's probably got performance enhancer thingies to boost ability. That's why we need Zaylee and the controller."

"Wait...What in the world is Denny Clay doing at the Rumble?" he demanded, unable to hide his astonishment.

"Dad. Please." she begged in deadly earnest.

Johnathan Green considered the bizarre weirdness in the mechanical bird and his daughter's further refusal to clarify without permission. Eventually he shook his head in bewilderment. Hank might be lying about this mysterious Zaylee, who he had yet to actually lay eyes on, but he had no reason to think she was lying about Denny Clay being a competitor in the Rumble despite how insane that sounded. Denny Clay was adventurous and had a lot of spare time on his hands. It was a strange sort of honest lie his daughter was pulling off – one part lie, one part truth. He looked between his daughter's deadly earnest but managed fear and the strange metal bird in the back half of the white and blue truck. He made up his mind then.

"Alright." he decided. "Let's go lend him a hand. Help me get the trolley out of the truck and we'll roll your 'present' into the tunnels. You're lucky I left it in there from that last university lecture."

Strongarm watched in silence as this plan unfolded before her. In minutes a distinctly scared Zodiac fell back into the act of mindless drone and was rolled into the tunnels. She was close enough to note that no license was ever produced, and the procedure Denny had gone through never happened. They were simply waved in. Well, that answered one question. Hank, her father, or perhaps both were exemptions from protocol for some reason. Hard on that came another:

 _Why_ the exemption from the standard procedure?

' _Actually, for that matter_ – _why the leg brace? And why would a seemingly regular human have a large, probably expensive drone controller lying around in their dwelling?_ '

Hank's father wanted answers after this was done with. Well, so did Strongarm. The data points weren't connecting right. There were gaps – gaps needing to be filled.

* * *

 _WWH-BANG!_

Frostbite hadn't dodged quickly enough. A massive hit on his side from Groundpounder sent him skidding off in one direction. Unable to keep his balance with the cage he tumbled over. It was all he could do not to whine or whimper. Groundpounder lunged in for the finishing hit, growling. The wolf struggled to his paws in time to move out of the way, only for a fist to slam him in the face and daze him. The pit-fighter began pummeling the downed Predacon, backing him up against the walls, Denny trapped in the cage and unable to help. Each hit the wolf took made him cringe. Groundpounder himself bore many claw marks, and Frostbite was riddled with dings himself, made only worse by the onslaught. Eventually he ran up against the wall. He could go no further.

"This is for takin' coach's optic, ya filthy beast!" Groundpounder roared.

He raised both hands in an overhead smash, green optics shining with a mad light. The female pilot thundered in to assist only to be swatted aside, her rig toppled again. Frostbite, weakened and battered, braced himself. He lowered his helm in submission...But he also picked up a faint, unidentified scent coming from somewhere in the arena. It was almost masked by Denny's fear pheromones, but it was there alright.

" _HEY! LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU BIG BULLY!_ " a female voice shouted over the stadium's speaker system. " _HOW ABOUT YOU FIGHT A PRO INSTEAD?!"_

Startled gasps echoed through the audience. Heads swiveled wildly towards the announcer's box. Frostbite and Groundpounder followed, startled. Visible through the industrial grade glass was a young girl and her father, the latter in a knee brace and holding a large quad-copter controller. He was busy manipulating it with skill that seemed to belie his somewhat geekishly athletic appearance. From the top of the stands a midnight blue form speckled with what looked like stars raced over the heads of the audience and into the ring. In a blur it shot down. Talons were retracted and lashed out at Groundpounder mercilessly, ripping open the mesh on the fighter's face just above his optics. Odd greenish-blue liquid began oozing out and into the sensitive organs. His vision blurred. Outraged, Groundpounder howled. Blindly he began swinging at the air in the hopes of hitting the flier. Laughter came from the stands. His fuel boiled.

" _Not so easy when there's three in the party, is it?_ " a male voice taunted over the loudspeakers.

Gasps echoed in a portion of the audience. Frostbite strained to listen. One set of words from that group was repeated enough that it got him curious: Green Devil. That was not a standard human name.

Groundpounder bellowed: "That's cheatin', you hear me?! No one said anything about a flier in the ring! Especially not Preds!"

" _Says the guy using performance enhancers. What, is it not cheating if you do it? Just everyone else? That's not very sporting of you._ "

Again the midnight blue form dove and raked its talons over his mesh, aiming for an arm this time. Again the glowing greenish-blue liquid oozed out. It banked around and headed for the female mecha pilot. Frostbite bounded over to her, wincing through the ache. Together they got the mecha back onto its wheels. The pilot hopped back in.

"Thanks, guys. What's the plan for the heavy?"

The pilot jolted when she felt her Bluetooth ping to life in her ear. She pressed it an accepted the call:

" _Ashley, it's Hank Green. Mr. Clay, you on here?_ "

"Yep." affirmed Denny. "Give us the rundown."

The other man's voice jumped in: " _The stuff this fella's using to boost performance_ – _Henri says it's called Synth-En. Highly experimental. It's like liquid Nitrous oxide. Stuff's pumping throughout the rig. I think if we can open enough breaches it'll purge the system. You with me?_ _But you gotta be careful. Henri says too many breaches and the rig'll shut down. I'd rather avoid the ire and lawsuit the owner might bring on us if that happens._ "

"Now _that's_ a plan!" Ashley exclaimed. "Clay, let's give this punk a good fanging!"

Denny put a hand on the wolf and he snarled, baring his fangs. "Just what we were thinking! Mecha-beasts, let's hunt!"

Frostbite flung his helm back an issued another bone-freezing howl as Ashley's mecha loosed a thundering roar of its engine. Zodiac circled silently above, expression as stiff as she felt. A chant soon rose from the masses:

 _FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!_

* * *

* _Get your helm in the game, you sorry excuse for a kzal! You're gettin' wiped by a bunch o' amateurs!_ *

Groundpounder growled and wiped some of fuel off his faceplates. His vision was still blurry thanks to the stuff that had managed to seep in but he could make out fairly distinct shapes and colors still – enough to see that slagged Well Guardian across the ring with the Dinobot knockoff. He shifted his sight upwards on hearing the sound of metallic wing beats and found the blue blur that had gashed his faceplates open. Oh come _on!_ Seriously?! An Avioid, too? What was this place, some sort of vacation spot for Preds?!

"How'm I supposed to fight an Avioid, coach?! She's got a height advantage!"

* _How else?_ _Swat that glitch out of the sky!_ * Headlock snapped.

He watched the blue blur return to its allies, noting it carefully avoided him. They had the advantage of height and numbers on their side, and the height advantage was smart enough to stay away from him. The pit-fighter growled. He wouldn't be able to swat her flat if she kept out of arm's reach. The Well Guardian was already weak and was protecting a fleshie himself, and the other meatbag's knockoff was a total joke. He gave a crooked grin as a simple strategy flashed through his helm. He had Synth-En; there were two fleshies in the ring, one in an unprotected, flimsy cage. And he wasn't afraid to make a mess.

Groundpounder stepped forward. The Preds and the mecha did the same. The crowd was still chanting " _FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!_ " It only grew louder as the astroseconds ticked by and was a din to the pit-fighter, one he was used to. He could almost feel the Synth-En in him respond to it. Oh, the thrill of the fight. He'd missed it.

The voices of the two announcers rang out into the stadium:

" _Alright, Crown City!_ _Let's! Get! RUMBLING!_ "

On that, the opposing parties charged to meet head on.

* * *

 **Author's Note: 3 vs 1 fight next chapter. Most effort put into a fight thus far.**


	32. Chapter 32: Last Hurrah

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 32**

 ***** _Long finale chapter :P_

* * *

Russell, Smokescreen, and Sideswipe watched the screen with bated breath as both parties clashed like opposing tidal waves at the center of the arena. Motion became blurs of color, and the crowd roared at the vicious tangle of limbs, wheels, and fangs. The camera angled up to show the speckled midnight blue form of Zodiac circling like a vulture, then switched over to another camera inside the announcer's box to show Hank's dad convincingly mirroring the bird-former's movements through the controls. It only showed his upper body.

" _It's been over a decade since we've seen him here last, but it seems the Green Devil has returned at the eleventh hour for one last encore performance!_ " said one of the two announcers cheerfully. " _Now this'll be one heck of a fight, Dan! The Green Devil's the best mecha fighter this city's ever seen! Undisputed King of the Ring!_ "

" _I'll say! What's it been, Josh_ – _fifteen years? Twenty?_ "

" _Fifteen years._ " clarified Dan, tone a little more somber. " _Fifteen_ _years since the Devil's accident at the hands of the Grizzly. Nasty fight that one, and though the Devil pulled out on top as he always did he paid a hefty price for that win._ "

The camera lowered and revealed the man to have one leg in a brace. He didn't even notice the attention on the limb, but Hank sure as heck did. Her head whipped to the side and she frowned dangerously, shoving the camera out of the way with a snarl of " _Do you mind?!_ " Whoever was in charge of that particular camera quickly switched it to his friend on the other side of the room. It did not focus on the braced leg this time, diverting its attention back to the man's busy hands before being rolled forward and panning in on the arena below. As it focused on the action Russell dimly remembered his dad mentioning _something_ about this accident the announcers were talking about, but his dad had never told him it was a crippling injury. He always though he'd just retired. He'd been a lot younger; maybe his dad was just trying to shelter him in a weird way. An accident that led to a leg brace might have convinced him that these fights were for real and not staged.

Zodiac was still circling above the now no-holds barred flaming melee below her. Her glowing eyes never strayed from the fight below her, and there was pretty obvious fear in them. The dinomech pilot went all out with her horns and fire, scalding Groundpounder with a stream of burning orange and red as she charged him, Frostbite dodging out of the way to avoid it. Groundpounder met her and grabbed the mechas horns in his fists, lifted it and the pilot up as easy as lifting a ten pound weight, and hurled it across the ring with a bellow. He laughed, and it that brief moment of conceit the white wolf lunged at him. Groundpounder turned in time for the wolf's razor claws to rake across his armor and leave nasty scratches, but it did not breach the protoform beneath. An arm was swung, the wolf ducked under, and his fangs were dipped a few inches into his armor. But Frostbite wasn't fast enough and was too swatted aside. This time he managed to stay upright. Groundpounder himself was leaking from many points on his body but that didn't seem to be enough. Not even Frostbite's freezing bite just now had any affect on him. It was like the guy was immune.

"Why is Frosty's bite not working?" he wondered, glancing at the two mechs behind him. "It worked on you right away, Sides. And on bat-mech."

Sideswipe shrugged. "No idea."

Fix-It whirred over from nearby. "I think what might be happening is that the Synth-En is overriding the shutdown response liquid nitrogen normally has on our nervous system. Still – two direct injections? That should have the same effect as anesthetics. And it looks like it isn't doing _anything_ to him. He's not even slowing down!"

Smokescreen's optics narrowed. Something wasn't adding up here. Some effect was only expected, but none at all? Or was there an effect happening they couldn't see?

* * *

* _Zaylee, you gotta get in there!_ * Hank said.

Zodiac did her best to keep her wings from locking up. She really didn't want to go back in there. Two close brushes with the scrapheap was enough for one day.

' _Come on, 'Zee. You can do_ _this_.' Smokescreen encouraged. ' _You've done great so far. No one's asking you to stay in the fray. Just keep dive-bombing the big phony. Put those needles on your trods to work. You're the distraction and predator drone in this fight. Keep Groundpounder off the others. And give him some scratches to remember you by. We city-dwellers may not be Painters, but I think avius folhis still applies._ '

The Avioid twittered nervously as she banked around. Yes, technically it applied. The others were her flock now. Groundpounder thundered over to the female pilot like a mad bull. The pilot braced herself as the fists came down on top of the cage, the metal wiring buckling. She yelped and tucked against the opposite wall of the cage, tense. But Zodiac did not pick up any fear pheromones from her. Like, at all. The woman was in danger of her life and she wasn't afraid. What the actual heck? Were all humans just completely insane?

"Hey! Steel ain't cheap, y'know!" she shouted. She didn't sound terrified – she sounded royally slagged off. "You're payin' for this damage! Not me!"

"Winners don't help out the losers!" Groundpounder growled. "They show 'em who's boss!"

The slammed down again onto the cage. Unable to take any more brute punishment, the metal lattice buckled and ruptured. One wire grazed an unprotected section of her upper arm, slicing through shirt and skin like paper. She winced and put a hand over the breach. Zodiac's spark raged as one part screamed at her to get down and help and another screamed at her to stay where she was where it was safer. Her expression was a battlefield.

"The hell?! Ya never hear of professional courtesy, blockhead?!" Ashley snapped back. "You're not gettin' the trophy for hurtin' or killin' another fighter!"

His optics blazed mad green and a twisted grin warped his faceplates.

"Just watch me!"

Groundpounder's arms came together and rose high above the down mecha.

"Any last words, meatbag?"

 ** _WHH-BANG!_**

The wolf mecha's body slammed itself into the new guy's machine like a rabid freight train, knocking it to the ground. The two rolled away until the wolf was atop the other, the other mecha pilot putting his machine's hands up to block the gnashing saber fangs that were mere inches from its face, super cold liquid dripping out of their tips and freezing on the mecha's face. Ashley was pleased to see that it was a struggle. Maybe their resident jerkface's rig was finally starting to run outta juice. Or had Clay's rig gotten some kind of boost?

* _ASHLEY! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!_ * rang the Green Devil's voice in ear.

She tried to get out but thanks to the way the metal cage had buckled she couldn't. Experimentally she kicked at the cage to see if she could bend it outwards or break it in a way she could use. It didn't work. She couldn't shimmy out either for fear of hurting herself. Her pads and helmet weren't exactly full plate armor, and she had the bruises and a cut to prove it.

"I can't!" she told him. "I'm stuck!"

* _Zaylee! Drone! Whatever you are!_ *

Zodiac jolted at the voice of Hank's Æfæn.

* _Get Ashley out of there! Dive!_ *

Steeling herself, the Avioid tucked in her wings and shot towards the ground, zipping past Groundpounder and Frostbite. She landed on the cage and clamped her beak around the cage mesh and tugged at it while biting down. There was a ching-chang noise as it snapped apart and an opening formed. A resounding clang made her whip around in time to see Frostbite forced off his drugged up prey, skidding backwards fifteen feet. The Avioid thus quickly lowered her beak in and a bit roughly plucked the other pilot up by the scruff of her vest, earning a faint yelp.

" _It's okay, Ash._ " said the bird without speaking, relaying Hank's voice. " _The drone won't hurt you._ "

Unless it was her imagination it looked like the bird drone's eyes flashed angrily at the word describing it. Ashley shook her head, dismissing it. A machine couldn't feel or react. She was totally seeing things. She _had_ hit her head pretty hard a few times when jerkface had tossed her rig around...she'd probably need to see a doctor after this was over just be sure she didn't have a concussion. There was no way... _was there_?

Zodiac flapped her wings and took off. Groundpounder rolled and hefted himself up to see her hovering above the dinomech rig. The fastest route out of the stadium was up and over the stands through one of the large entrance and exit tunnels, but that would put the audience at terrible risk. And the only other route out of here...was past the pit-fighter, the other entry door being locked down. She couldn't use her speed to whirl past him – the human in her beak had no protection for the massive G-forces super-speed caused. That was the only way out though. There was no way around it.

"Too scared to fight me, little birdy?!" Groundpounder challenged. "And here I though Preds were supposed to be brave!"

Something in her snapped taught. Her optics hardened and narrowed, Groundpounder's mimicking hers and his twisted grin remaining. Zodiac flew forward in a mute rage, darting over his helm and behind him. The pit-fighter's arm rose up and back to swing in a wide arc. She rolled upside-down to protect the pilot from the oncoming limb – and was promptly struck as if by a Buffaloid. It was all she could to keep her beak shut and not let the scream of pain out. Avioid and human pilot were sent flying towards the open tunnel, the latter tucked against her chassis and shielded by her folded wings. The moment they hit ground the wings unfurled and the pilot tumbled out of her feathered cocoon, skidding on the dirt floor until she came to a stop about twenty-five feet from the tunnel.

" _Oh! And a direct hit on the Devil's drone!_ " cried the announcer. " _Ashley looks a bit scuffed up but she's never been one to stay down for long!_ "

Ashley groaned and forced herself to her knees, wincing but thankful her limbs all appeared to be in working order. She looked over at the drone as it lifted its head up to stare at her squarely. There was a message in those glowing eyes that was plain as a gunshot.

 _Run_.

And she did. Backing away, her eyes darting between the wolf's pilot, the drone, and the two Greens in the announcers box, Ashley Collingwood turned tail and ran.

* * *

Sideswipe's mouth dropped open. Beside him, Grimlock's did the same. Both of them were left speechless at the sight on the screen. The red mech didn't know whether Zodiac had gone nuttier than Backdraft in a motocross event or to call her a crazy genius. That thought came to a stop when he heard Smokescreen emit a sound of pain and clutch his side as if he'd been struck. Russell's head whipped around but to his surprise and that of Sideswipe and Grim the mech wasn't grimacing or wincing from the pain – he was smiling in the same crazy way Backdraft did, and there was a certain gleam in his blue gaze that the boy had seen in his dad's eyes after the football game: _pride_.

"Atta girl." he said. "Show that jerk you're no Tinkerbell."

They watched as the Avioid struggled to her taloned trods. The crowd went wild. When the camera on the proscenium section zoomed in they all of them noticed the ugly dent where Groundpounder's fist had met her wig and frame. She staggered a few steps forward. Her legs trembled. But despite her injury there was no fear in her royal blue optics. In fact, the look on her avian face was one that bordered on smugness. Her beak opened an a splitting, high-pitched scream out. Some of the people in the audience clamped their hands over their ears to save their eardrums, and Frostbite and Mr. Clay were hardly spared, one following the example of the crowd while the other dampened his hearing via wireless command. Denny considered everyone fortunate than she'd kept the volume down the first night.

Groundpounder smirked:

" _Huh. And here I thought all Avioids were made of glass._ "

Zodiac issued another scream. Frostbite's helm whipped around to stare at her as if shocked. Only he had understood her primal language. That femme needed to have her beak washed out with cleansing solution. Where in the name of Onyx Prime had she even _learned_ that kind of language?

Smokescreen's optics widened but the grin was still there. "Buddy, do _not_ tease her. If there's one thing she hates more in life than the High Council, it's _bullies_. All you're doing is kicking the scraplet nest."

"Mech, she doesn't even like _teasing_." Sideswipe rebutted. "Did you even _see_ what she did to me two solar cycles ago? I thought she'd crack my helm open with that beak!"

"...That was because you electrocuted Strongarm." Counterforce deadpanned as he entered the commons. "That wasn't very nice. Neither was your teasing of Windstorm in a precarious situation. I know you're trying to be funny, but you need to learn when it's alright to make jokes or tease. Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. _And_ learn to give a lady _other_ than Sen some respect?" he added, arching one brow ridge.

"Burned." Russell said, smiling. Grimlock sniggered.

"Oh ha-ha, smart aft." shot back the red mech irritably. "I _helped_ Sen after her 'episode' and _now_ you're charring my hide? It was just a _joke_! Both times!"

"I laid off for a while to show my thanks for that. That never meant you were getting off scot free."

Their attention turned back to the screen when Groundpounder growled at last:

" _Maybe I just haven't hit you in the right spot!_ "

The gladiator stormed towards the Avioid with a bellow, and his target, though still reeling a little, took to the skies in time to avoid him, staying well above him and out of his reach. She seemed about to laugh at him but to her horror he ignored her and went after the fleeing female pilot. Her optics went round as tires, matching the reactions of those watching the screen miles away. Groundpounder leapt and slammed the dirt floor of the arena just behind the pilot with his fists, making her yelp and loose her footing and fall onto her chest as it up-heaved like under an earthquake. The fists rose up...

* * *

Johnathan Green's mouth dropped open, aghast at what he was seeing below him. This newcomer wasn't just unsporting – he was downright criminal! Injecting enhancing chemicals into a rig and attempted murder in one fight? He had to wonder how the heck he'd gotten in in the first place. Competitors usually had to sign an honesty policy before they entered. But perhaps they'd changed that since his time? He was a bit out of the loop these days.

"ASHLEY!" his daughter cried.

He watched the metal bird tense up and followed her lead. Wolfsbane, obviously beginning to overheat a bit, wildly zigzagged forward. He understood the strategy in a flash: Wolfsbane was the distraction here, and Zaylee would slip in and attack while the new guy's focus was on the other target. Just as he suspected the bird screamed forwards in a glittering wink of midnight sky blue. Mr. Clay reached the opposing mecha and braced his own by lowing its head and digging its claws into the dirt for traction, tanking the incoming hit like a rhino and skidding back a good ways. Their timing, however, was a split second off. When Zaylee reached the newcomer's mecha to claw at its optical sensors and remove its sight, a hand swung up to grab the drone. Johnathan frantically fiddled with the controls to give the illusion he was making the drone struggle when in reality he was doing nothing.

" _Let's see how many hits it takes to crack your egg, glitch!_ "

And with that grim phrase the newcomer flung the bird across the stadium where it soundly impacted against the rim that protected the audience. Stone was cracked and a keen of what sounded like pain escaped its beak, and it slumped to the dirt. It tired to rise but couldn't manage. The newcomer then turned to Mr. Clay, Wolfsbane plainly exhausted; its eyes flashed like sunlight hitting a glacier, letting him know that Clay wasn't out of the fight just yet. Another hit made the cage bend inwards and nearly gave Denny the same nasty gash Ashley had suffered. Wolfsbane staggered and fell onto its side. Inside the cage, Denny bore a number of ugly bruises. His mecha looked to have shut down, its optical sensors dark and shuttered. Across the ring, Zaylee was still as a corpse, beaten and bedraggled. Frankly, the newcomer's mecha wasn't looking much better...but through some black miracle it was still functioning.

The newcomer bent down hefted the fallen Wolfsbane up like a hunter displaying his kill. Ashley, seizing her chance, ran the rest of the way towards the open tunnel. There was an ominous ring as the metal bulkhead clanged down behind her, sealing the arena.

" _That enough proof for ya?!_ " boomed the newcomer. " _Anyone else wanna try to prove I don't deserve that trophy?!_ "

A sound then rose from the crowd in the stands, first low, then growing into artificial thunder:

 _BOOOOO! BOO! BOOO!_

The newcomer's confidence faltered. " _What?! I beat your best warriors! That's not enough proof?!_ "

 _BOOOOOOOOOO!_

" _Fine! If you won't hand over what I've earned I'll just take it!_ "

Lugging the limp Wolfsbane, the newcomer's rig went for the trophy. Johnathan glanced to the side on noticing movement. Henri had slipped forwards to take the mic from one of the speechless announcers and, grinning, she spoke into it:

"Here's the thing about the Rumble, tough guy: you gotta _play_ fair to _win_ fair. Nobody likes a quack – _or_ an unfair fight! Am I right?!"

At that the crowd let out a thundering cheer of agreement. Groundpounder looked up at the announcer's box, anger contorting his features.

Shoving the mic back into the hands of its proper owner she hit the Bluetooth in her ear and added: "Fang him, Mr. Clay!"

* _With pleasure_ _!_ *

Mr. Clay tapped the limp rig's exoskeleton. Wolfsbane snapped back online in the blink of an eye and like lightning scratched open some nasty wounds on the newcomer rig's arms and legs. Groundpounder instinctively let go, allowing Wolfsbane to pounce. Together they fell, and in a rapid blink of movement the saber fangs were plunged into the newcomer's right arm up to the midpoint. The metal wolf was forced back by a solid strike to the head, fangs jerking back out. Its head shook, dazed. The newcomer was now oozing weird green fluid from almost every major point on its frame. The damage was done.

In the box, the elder Green frowned. ' _All these breaches and he's still going?_ ' he wondered. Was there an alternate power source keeping the rig from shutting down? Henri hadn't mentioned one...

" _Why won't you stay down?!_ " Groundpounder yelled, ramming his fists into the dirt in frustration. But his motions were slower than they had been. _Something_ was certainly working.

Wolfsbane let out a gurgling growl, claws extending further. Something about the sound made the man's skin tingle.

" _What's that old saying?_ " Denny mused loudly. " _Can't keep a good dog down?_ "

To which the other bellowed: " _Then I'll make SURE you stay down_ – _by PUTTING you down!_ "

The newcomer stomped forward. Wolfsbane reared up like a bucking bronco and struck the other mecha with one of its giant boxing-glove paws right across the face, the strike sounding like a reverberating gong mixed with a canon shot. As the enemy stumbled back, shielding its optical sensors as more of the liquid oozed, Wolfsbane leapt and knocked it to the ground for one last crippling bite. Its maw gaped open and the twin sabers sank in up to their hilts on the other mecha's arm, puncturing the metal like a rattler's fangs through skin, and clamping its jaw down. There was a groaning of metal as it warped under the sheer pressure it was now forced to endure. When Mr. Clay forced his rig off, the opponent tried his best to get his rig back to its feet. But when it put one of its arms down to act as a counter ballast, it buckled and gave, and the other arm barely seemed to be able to hold the weight. Not even the legs appeared to be working right. Whatever Wolfsbane had injected into the other rig it was finally starting to suffer from it through accumulation.

"What in blue blazes is in those fangs...?" Johnathan Green murmured. "I've never seen a rig react like this."

" _This...ain't over, beast._ " the newcomer grumbled as he kept trying to rise, optical sensors breached and leaking more of the green ooze and another, paler liquid. They fritzed wildly. " _Not till one of us heads to the scrapheap. I want payback! You hear me?!_ "

A gasp rippled around the stands as the newcomer actually staggered back to his feet, earning a crookedly proud smile. Wolfsbane took a step back.

" _Scared, beastie?_ " he taunted. " _You should be_."

" _Nah._ " Denny smart-alecked back. " _Not_ _scared of you._ "

The newcomer's expression became a trifle puzzled. Denny's grin went full-blown deadly maniac.

" _He's giving our bird some space for a beat down._ "

* * *

Groundpounder whirled around at those ominous words...

Just in time to have a flash of midnight blue ram into his helm with the force of an oncoming bullet train.

 _ **WWH-CHANG! SHRRRNG!**_

Talons raked across his faceplates, deepening the ones already present. The Synth-En and optic fluid stung as it seeped in. He staggered back with a howl of pain, hands once more shielding his optics. One hand swung up and wildly tried to grab the flier.

* _Behind you and up!_ * Headlock barked.

He reached up blindly and successfully snagged the flier before she could zip out of range. A shout of victory turned into one of shock as he felt something hit his legs and knock them out from under him, but the sense for some reason was dulled. Groundpounder teetered for a moment in a last-ditch attempt to regain balance, but the wild zigzagging flight of the leg of the bird in his hand resulted in a fall regardless. To his annoyance she managed to slip free of his fuel-stained hands and tumbled away, landing sprawled in the dirt and chittering. Through the fritz he saw the Well Guardian approach, losing sight of him when he circled around back. He felt his fangs puncture soundly into his leg, and an icy chill raced up and down his tactile net, numbing everything. Wolfsbane came around to face him. The crowd cheered and roared the victory that should've been his and his alone.

"Gonna finish what you started?" he snarled and hissed as more of the fluid dripped into his optics and wounds.

"Nope." said the human on the beast's back. "We're good sports. We're done here. See, we didn't come for the trophy. We're here for _you_ and your little friend. So where is he?"

"Not tellin' you anything, meatbag."

Denny shrugged. Frostbite's paw raised and struck out like a boxing glove. Groundpounder fell silent. But there were other ways of finding a missing convict. Putting a hand to his Bluetooth, he gave a certain orange mini-con a call. As it rang he said:

"Oh, a piece of advice: don't miff off the bird. She doesn't like bullies."

* * *

" _Volqen!_ "

Headlock's low-frequency whispered curse echoed once through the maintenance tunnel that ran beneath the stands as he dropped down below cover, transforming just in time to avoid a native worker stroll by. One Predacon was bad enough (a Well Guardian no less; Darksteel still had a thing'r two comin') but not only was it the White Hound of Iacon who'd challenged Groundpounder, an Avioid partner had swooped in outta nowhere and practically tore his optics apart. Not even dosing'd stopped his _kzal_ from gettin' the scrap clawed out of him. Blast those beasts. Contrail was right about 'em. Wild animals, that's what they were.

But Groundpounder would win this fight. He'd make sure o' that. Even if he had to take the win for him.

He'd have to get up there first...

The little forklift remained in his disguise, processor whirring away. An idea came to him when another worker strolled forward, its fleshy face buried some sorta device. The workers and equipment down here were used to haul broken warriors off the arena floor; he'd seen them drag off the defeated opponent of the recent female warrior – _replacing_ one would give him a free pass onto the field. And with the Hound's sniffer clogged with the smell of spilled fuel...heh...

And so, seizing his chance, Headlock hefted up one the forklift nearest him and lugged it further down. As if in answer another native ran in and hopped on, fingers scanning his control panel and, on finding what they assumed must be the ignition button, pressed on it. Headlock played along, making his engine rumble loudly. The native spun the wheel and he followed the motions. They reached an access ramp and headed up, a gate lifting to let the human and his stowaway into the ring. The crowd in the stands had thinned, the dim-witted natives thinking the fight was done with. Closer he drew. The Hound didn't react. His feathered friend was unconscious and a little too close for his liking, but her condition satisfied him – dented, dinged, and banged up, mis-colored Energon on her legs and tail, the glitch was in no state for a brawl. The Hound was in no better shape, panting heavily.

The human drew up to the nearly unconscious Groundpounder...and then howled in pain as Headlock electrocuted him. Headlock dropped his cover and flung the sack of meat aside. Up in the stands the natives that hadn't yet left gasped. "Wolfsbane" spun to strike back and wound up zapped as well, earning a pained yelping sound from him and a cry of shock and pain from his native helper. The beast jerked away.

"Fight's not over yet, mutt!" he barked.

He lunged and electricity danced over the beast's frame. His human cried out again.

* * *

"DAD!"

Russell could almost feel his heart stop. His dad needed help and Frostbite and Zodiac couldn't fight back. They were too weak from the fight with Groundpounder. He could only watch as the smaller mech kept zapping the poor wolf with a hand-held taser kinda thing, forcing him back like with a cattle prod. Every hit on the wolf equaled a hit on his dad. 'Bots could take that kind of voltage – people couldn't.

" _That's fer takin' my optic!_ " Headlock hissed as he struck him again.

"O-oh my." Fix-It stammered. "I always assumed Groundpounder was the one cheating and Headlock covered for him. But it looks like –"

"He's just as bad as the other guy!" Grimlock snarled.

"Fix-It! He's gonna hurt them! He's _already_ hurting them!" Russell pleaded. "We gotta help them!"

Fix-It looked at the smashed television as his processor raced. Drift and Bumblebee were still thirty minutes out; they would never make it in time. Those here however might. He glanced up at the Elite Guardsmech and shared a look with him. Smokescreen nodded imperceptibly to him. Almost unconsciously the mini-con shifted one hand into an taser-like device – the same one he'd used to incapacitate Grimlock after the crash. His thoughtful expression hardened. If it could take down a Dinobot...He turned to Russell and said:

"I believe you humans have a saying: fight fire with fire."

The taser sparked to life. Russell pulled out his smartphone. That alone gave him an idea, now that he knew some things.

* * *

The moment the tiny mecha had revealed itself and shocked the worker that had been riding in it, Johnathan Green had vanished out of the announcer's box in a whirl, Josh and Dan grinning like lunatics but keeping their mouths shut for his sake. If his doctor found out about this – heck, if _Olivia_ found out about this he would be in a world of trouble. But of course since this was being broadcast live she probably _would_ find out...and he'd get in trouble anyway. Better to help than to lie back and watch.

He activated his Bluetooth. "Henri? Henri, where are you? Meet me in the Hall."

" _Already there._ "

"Good." he said as he jogged, ignoring the spiking pain in his leg. "We're on the same page then. But the old girl hasn't been up and running since the accident. I'm not even sure if the damage's been mended. I _might_ be able to pilot it but it'd be risky."

" _No worries, dad. I got someone here already at work on that. He'll be co-piloting for you, too._ "

He wanted to crack a wry grin but a howl from Wolfsbane and a cry from Denny Clay forestalled it. His daughter knew him too well. But he had to wonder who Henri's friend was. She seemed to be acquiring a lot of them lately in an out-of-the-blue fashion, Zaylee in particular leaving him suspicious. He still had yet to lay eyes on her; Henri had said she'd gone into the stadium but she'd never pointed her out to him. And now there was another, well-versed enough in automotive repair to fix his old mecha? It was like they were crawling out of the woodwork on command.

The elder Green shook his head and ducked into an access tunnel that snaked beneath the stands and down below the stadium. He let out a sound of pain as his old injury finally caught up with him, but he barely slowed down. Lives were riding on how soon he could get the old flame-thrower up there and mediate the brawl, Denny's especially. A man could only take so much voltage, and from the continued cries it didn't sound like the newcomer's little friend was going to lay off until both man and mecha were on the ground. He slowed by a margin as he neared the familiar vault chamber and the door beside it. Grabbing the handle, he slipped inside. His hand instinctively reached behind him to twist the bar into to place above the handle, locking it from the inside.

And he stopped dead in his tracks. His hand dropped limply to his side.

Henri hadn't been kidding about her new "friend." Right there in front of him, _someone_ was indeed busy at work mending his rig's old internal scars – a strange little figure in a dark trench coat and fedora hat, with bright orange "skin" that had an unnatural sheen to it. When the figure glanced up he had an uncanny feeling of déjà vu. The face, though smoother and highlighted by large round blue eyes far too big to belong to a human being, reminded him of the face of the zap-happy sneak out in the arena. Something about the silver face beneath the hat was...friendlier, however. Henri obviously felt safe around whoever this was.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Green." said the stranger in a strangely chipper tone of voice. "Might I say you're _quite_ the talented actor, as is your charge. I never would've guessed –"

"Focus, Felix. I'd rather not have to call Russell and tell him his dad died from being zapped to death." snapped Henri tersely. "I'm not sure how much longer Mr. Clay can hold out. Humans don't have built in shock absorbers."

"Felix" regained his composure with a little cough: "Yes, quite. Mr. Green, you can help if you wish. I'd personally try to leap – jeep – _keep_ from exacerbating your old injury, which is why I'll be co-piloting for you. You don't have to actually fight him. All you need to do is get me in close. I'll handle it."

Nodding, the elder Green lightly limped over to join his daughter and quicken the repairs, surprised to find that most of the necessary components had been fixed up in a rushed, jury-rigged manner that bore the touch of a professional. He wasn't worried about the frame damage; so long as the thing could run he was happy. He went off towards an old cabinet beside which a trolley sat and lugged out two old tanks of propane. He carted them over as Henri poured a few gallons of gasoline into the gas cap disguised beneath the paint and plating. Eagerly her friend inserted the keys, and the old engine grumbled to life. He thus poured the propane into the storage tank towards the front of the mecha. There was no spare time to test the flame-thrower, so he hopped into the driver's seat. "Felix" joined him on the passenger side.

Hank jumped off as it rolled forward, watching as it trundled out of its bay and into the hall.

"Please be careful..." she softly begged.

But not willing to sit and wait, she darted out into the hall and headed back to the announcer's box. Her dad had left the controller there. Hopefully Zodiac had enough spark left in her for one last counter-strike. Unlike a few nights ago, Frostbite's howls weren't exactly good music to listen to.

* * *

Frostbite had done his best to absorb as much of the electricity as possible to spare Russell's Æfæn as much as possible, but even a Predacon could only take so much voltage before it began spill over. His shock absorbers just couldn't handle any more. And so he was forced to let half of the next jolt run through him like he was a live wire...and into Denny Clay. The man's scream of pain set his ward coding off, but when he reacted to it he found he could barely move. A deadly lunged turned into a forward stumble. He fell onto his front paws, electricity dancing around on his frame. Denny's heart rate indicated he was only barely conscious, and the smell of singed fabric and hair drifted into his olfactory sensors.

"Not s'great when you're on the receiving end, is it?" Headlock growled, looming over the down beast.

The Canipid barely managed a weak snarl. He'd lost sensation in his forelimbs and chassis.

" _Leave. Him. Alone!_ "

Headlock turned to see the young Avioid struggling to her trods. "And what're _you_ gonna do about it, glitch? We won. You lost. Get over it."

He spun again on hearing the opposite gate groan open. Through the darkness he could see two glowing red eyes and hear the thundering rumble of a powerful engine. What emerged not only took him off guard for a split astrosecond or two, it also made him reconsider whether'r'not joinin' a public arena like this'd been such a great idea. It was a native construct alright, but it was nothing like the ones he'd seen s'far: a great green Draconian beast with horns on each side of its helm and one on its muzzle. An insignia was painted on either side. Smoke trickled out of its snout. A male pilot was in the driver's seat. Another figure sat beside him. When the hatted stranger looked up, Headlock tensed.

A mini-con.

"How about I teach you some manners, tough guy?" said the native male pilot in a dangerous, cocksure voice. "Rule One: A real man never picks on a lady."

The pilot yanked a lever. The beast's sealed maw dropped open and spewed a torrent of flame. The crowd went absolutely crazy, anyone in the process of leaving doin' a one-eighty.

" _H_ _ere he is for one last encore performance: The Green DEVIL!"_

If the crowd wasn't goin' bonkers before, they went loony after that announcement. Headlock's attention switched away from the Hound. He frowned, but in a strangely pleased way.

"Finally. A professional. Was beginnin' ta wonder when they'd send out tha big guns."

"Then let's dance, pipsqueak." teased the other. "I don't tolerate cheats."

The Devil's engine roared and the mecha barreled towards him. Brandishing his weapon, Headlock prepared to meet it. One zap'd gotten the other meatbags. He'd get this fleshie, too – _and_ his mini-con pal. This victory would go ta him 'n Groundpounder, not to some wild animal n' sure as the Pit not to'a Well Guardian. But what he didn't expect to happen was for the pilot to hit the brakes and spin the wheel sharply to one side, forcing the rig into a side spin and kicking up a dust storm, then yank on something and unleash another firestorm. It left the mini-con blind to the target for a split coupl'a astroseconds. Infrared was useless.

"Come out n' fight!" Headlock snapped.

"Gladly!"

Out of the flames and dust the rig roared towards him, the horn on its snout now shown to be custom-made chainsaw. Headlock braced himself, weapon ready. When the rig trundled past him he struck out and touched the taser to it, earning a pained cry from the pilot and causing the rig to veer wildly and strike the wall behind him – but not a peep from the other mini-con. A closer look told why: the seat beside the pilot was now empty.

Frack! It was a trick. The whole slagged thing was a trick.

' _Rule of Battle #15: If tha enemy knows yer there, make a diversion._ ' he thought sourly.

He wheeled around just in time to barely avoid an enemy taser aimed at his helm, ducking and lurching to the side. The two mini-cons slowly circled one another. Watching. Gauging. Preparing. Then Headlock lunged without so much as a word in edgewise, the other strafing to the side to avoid. Another slash struck the other mini and forced him back. To his suspicion he scooted to one side a few paces.

"Shoulda known you don't got the bearings for a real fight!" he taunted. "Resortin' ta cheap tricks like that!"

"Look who's talking." the other mini-con snapped. "And to think I actually _looked up_ to you. I was one of your biggest fans! Well, thank you for proving just how stupid _that_ was!"

"So yer idol's not as upstandin' as ya thought. Cry me a river, kid."

The other mini-con whirled forward, striking out faster than he'd thought possible, and the very tip of the taser brushed the plating on his arm. Headlock struck back and landed another hit. He lunged again and soundly landed another. Dazed, the orange mini-con couldn't fight back as he wrapped an arm around his neck cables and held him fast.

"Hand over tha trophy n' I won't fry him!" Headlock demanded, addressing the announcers in the box above.

"In your little midget dreams!" shot back the young female. "Jerks don't deserve trophies!"

The crowd roared approval.

He let out a startled noise as the other mini-con wrench the hand over his neck cables free, painfully twisting it into a position his arm just weren't meant for. Like lightning the other mini-con jabbed his taser into his side. Headlock howled at the painful overload as his sight went on the fritz. Another jab and the world spasmed violently between color and static before blacking out. He never felt himself hit the ground.

The crowd's roar turned into a shocked gasp. Then the roar returned, louder than ever.

* * *

Fix-It stood there looking at Headlock for a moment in silence. On hearing a whine from Frostbite his gaze snapped back up. The Thunderdome's arena was a mess – Frostbite and Denny were over in a corner near at hand, Zodiac was near the exit Ashley had disappeared into (he sincerely hoped she was alright; he'd check local clinics and hospitals to see) and the Green Devil had rammed sideways into the wall behind him. From the looks of it he was alright, just a bit shaken. The trophy sat where it had been to start with, gleaming and untouched.

' _All this fuss over a trophy?_ ' he thought. ' _What were they even going to do with it? Put it on a shelf?_ '

He pinged Strongarm and Hank simultaneously. [Hank, could you get your announcer friends to bring in your father's vehicle and Strongarm, plus whatever vehicles they have?]

* _You got it, Felix. Dan and Josh'll get their trucks, and I'll have one of the guards here bring in my dad's truck, seeing as I can't drive and all. I think they have some spare flatbeds, too. They'll bring those out. An ambulance is already on the way for Mr. Clay. I called 'em as soon as the shock happened._ *

[Appreciated.] answered Fix-It.

He wheeled over to the Avioid and hefted her up. Other than looking banged up and slimed with Synth-En (which seemed to gross her out intensely) she was at least conscious – and acting the part of the "drone with no controller frequency" perfectly. Frostbite honestly was worse off; Charity would need to check him over to ensure no major damage to his nervous system. Headlock had acted more than happy not to hold back, and with the amount of electricity he took in...Shaking his helm slightly, he then pinged Bumblebee and Drift.

[Sir? Could you divert your route and head for the hospital nearest the arena?]

[Uh...sure. We're almost there. Just hit the outskirts.] A pause. [Russell's been keeping us posted. Denny _is_ alive, right?]

[Alive but in need of medical attention. Frostbite absorbed most of the electricity from the final jolt. He's in need of a medic as well.]

[Roger that, Fix-It. Get those jerks back into their pods.]

[Happily.]

He didn't need to wait long for the ambulance. One of the gates rumbled back open to permit it. A crew of paramedics flooded out, three going to Denny Clay and two going for the Green Devil's rig. With a little help from some workers the cages were wrenched open and the two men bundled into the vehicle. In a wail of sirens they peeled out in a swirl of dust.

Though not as spiritual as Charity, Fix-It sent up a little prayer regardless.

* * *

A few minutes later, a quartet of trucks rolled in with flatbeds hooked up and ready to haul, and with the help of non-transforming, villainous forklifts, Groundpounder was heaved onto one flatbed and chained down, Frostbite onto another. Headlock was chained into the back of Mr. Green's truck. Fix-It wheeled over to Strongarm and gently put the battered Avoid into her trunk. He himself hopped into one of the back seats to keep an optic on her. Smokescreen had always been nearby to support her. He had to hope he was a sufficient substitute – he didn't know the first thing about dealing with someone as skittish as she. He peered back. One royal blue optic opened.

~ _Trust_ ~ ~ _Thanks_ ~ ~ _Ease_ ~

That was all the answer he needed. She was just happy _someone_ she knew was there. Two someones. She was away from the roaring crowd and attention now, tucked in a nice little space with friends.

"And here you said you were a horrible actor and couldn't pull this off..." he muttered quietly in a frequency just below human hearing, smiling at her.

The Avioid's royal blue optic narrowed. *... _Shut up._ * She tucked a wing over her helm. * _This still could've gone a lot better. I almost botched it by getting up. Thank Primus for Hank tanking the controller and using my speakers. Oh, and did I mention we got beat to a slagging pulp and we could've died?_ *

[It could've gone a lot _worse._..] Strongarm reminded her tautly. [People _could've_ died.] She laughed a dry laugh. [Great. Now you're turning _me_ into a pessimist. I thought pessimism was handled by you and the detective – and _not_ contagious?]

* _Oh, then I'll just lock you in a room with Backdraft when we get back. How's that? That'll fix your gloominess._ * joked Zodiac.

[Ha-ha. Very funny.]

' _But not a bad idea..._ ' Strongarm thought after considering it. Backdraft _did_ have an uncanny talent to always lift a 'bot's spirits with his antics and attitude. She'd seen it work. Negativity seemed to wash off him as easily as water rolled off their armor. It may hover over him for a while but eventually it dissipated.

Maybe _that_ was the treatment Sentenza needed: have a jovial nutcase keep an optic on her for a while, humor her and let his attitude rub off on her. She'd talk with Counterforce about it. She hoped the Seeker was in a better state than when they'd left. Her situation was beginning to look bleak. Desperate times called for desperate measures she supposed.

She still thought he was crazy though.

* * *

 **Author's Note: PRIMUS. .-. So much work, so little time to write! D: I hate the last part of a semester** – **it's just work, work, work, test, test, test, paper after paper! It's a nightmare. But a long chapter to compensate for that. I'll have a little time over Thanksgiving Break to catch up on my writing. But I hope I'm getting better at writing battles. :)**


	33. Chapter 33: Heroes Wear Hawaiian Print

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 33**

* * *

Russell met the arriving trucks in the commons. He didn't worry about the 'bots – he'd already told them to stay undercover. Not even Sides had argued twice about that. A mechanical wolf might be excused by the Thunderdome, but giant talking cars and robots were going a little too far. Regardless, Smokescreen, Sideswipe, and Counterforce had said they'd stay nearby. He glanced to the side and saw the trio parked off to the side of the gate towards the auto section, dead silent. He almost laughed. Sideswipe had to be going crazy having to be quiet.

He motioned to the truck with Frostbite. He could practically feel his heart drop in his chest. He looked a lot worse up close. Dents covered him, his metal skin had broken open in fine cracks along his body, and it probably wasn't helping that he couldn't cycle in air as much as he usually did to help cool himself down. The guys had to get out of here just to let the poor guy breathe properly.

"Here. Over here. There's more room." he said.

The driver gave him a thumbs up, turned the truck around and followed Russell's gesturing until he put his hands up and said he was good. At that the door clicked open and the man jumped out. He recognized him as one of the two announcers from the Thunderdome: Josh DeManga. He was a tall, muscular man in his late forties from the looks of him, with black hair that held a streak or two of grey in it. Warm brown eyes complimented his sympathetic smile and rich caramel skin. His casual business suit had a few wrinkles in it – weird clash considering one of his ears was pierced with a small gauge. He whistled and motioned for the other truck hauling Groundpounder to back up beside the truck he'd been in.

"You Clay's kid, huh?" asked Josh.

Russell's hands disappeared into his pockets. "Yeah."

"Some dad you got to build a mecha like that." He jerked his head over to Frostbite. "And to face down those dirty cheats."

A little smile broke out on Russell's face. "Yeah, he's...got a lot of free time on his hands."

Josh patted a hand on his shoulder. Big hands, and he was surprised to see a tattoo on the wrist for Pisces. Russell also swore he saw a hint of a full-arm tattoo just beneath the man's right sleeve. He'd seen a hint of that on screen, too. Tattooed guy with an ear piercing in a nice suit – not your everyday business man. Or sports announcer.

"Don't worry, kid. He's gonna be fine. So's Green. Crown City General's got the best docs in town. They'll take good care of 'em there. Ask me, they'll be out by this evening or tomorrow morning at the latest. Doctors tend to get a little clingy if you get me. They'll just want to make sure your dad's a-okay before they let him off the leash."

Russell admitted to feeling a little appeased by that piece of news.

"When we get this sorted out here I could take you there if you'd like." offered the man. "Not right to leave a kid on his own in a big place like this."

He almost let slip the argument that he was anything but on his own only to stop himself just as his mouth opened. But he did swing a quick glance at the three silent vehicles lurking near the gates like gargoyles. He swore it looked like Sideswipe had rolled forward an inch or so. Silently he motioned with a hand behind his back. His head whipped back when the other announcer hopped out of the second truck: Dan "the Bullhorn" Baldwin. He was younger than Josh by a few years, looking to be in his mid to late thirties. Where Josh was muscular, Dan was heavyset. His clothing was a contrast to Josh's – a leather vest over a crisp white shirt and blue jeans held up by a big belt. Cowboy boots finished the look. His white skin was lightly tanned. Russell thought he remembered his dad saying the guy was from Texas.

"Hey, kid!" Dan's voice was a loud, amiable boom.

"Yeah?"

"Got any forklifts here? Mini-cranes? Anything?" he asked. "Can't exactly move these hulking things by hand."

Russell started. "Oh! yeah. Down that way." He pointed. "I think my dad has a small crane back there somewhere. Forklifts, too."

The boy watched the two men head off. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, happy neither man had asked about the three fancy cars parked near the gate. He'd also been careful to tell Grimlock to stay away from where the heavy lifting equipment was. The only vehicle they might spot back there would be Backdraft or maybe Charity who were hiding among the vehicles in the auto section. He had no worries about Sen dropping her cloak.

The third man to exit one of the four trucks (Hank's) looked to be just a guard from the stadium, Hank herself jumping out behind him. He wore a standard guard's uniform and heavy boots. Glasses covered his eyes. His name tag said "Roberts." He motioned the fourth and final truck forward and the final driver jumped out f Strongarm's cabin. She was a big, dark-skinned woman in her twenties with strong arms and legs who wore a guard's uniform like the other man. Thick black hair was held in a ponytail. Light brown eyes peered past a stylish set of glasses. Her name tag read "Gibson." Fix-It quickly joined her and went about gently removing the play-acting Zodiac from Strongarm's custody.

"Where do you want the little ones?" asked the Gibson woman.

Russell thought fast.

"Um. We're gonna fix the bird first. We'll need to check out the other one. Just drop it off back there." He motioned in the direction of Charity's med-bay. Hopefully the lady wouldn't ask any questions when she got back. "Keep it chained though. I'd rather that thing not come back online and zap you, ma'am."

"Alright."

He almost gawked when the woman easily hefted Headlock out of the back of Hank's dad's truck. The other male guard went with her, lending some of his strength to her. Together they headed off towards where he had told them to put the mini-con. Fix-It wheeled over to the sofa and placed Zodiac down. She let out a nervous little twittering noise that convinced him to stay near and begin with some minor repair work. He went over and joined them, taking a seat on the arm. He couldn't help wincing. She looked only slightly better off than Frostbite – she also had some nasty dings in her armor, and her shimmering blue-black mesh was scuffed and dirty. Some of her diodes had cracked from Groundpounder's hits. One optic flicked to focus on him. He felt his phone buzz and he pulled it out to find a new text. It read:

 _You trust these people?_

He texted back: _Hank does._

Hank herself jogged over to them then.

"Is she okay?" she whispered to Fix-It.

"I'm honestly more concerned about Frostbite." admitted the orange mini-con quietly. "We need to get these people out of here quickly so Charity can tend to him."

All three of them looked over to the chained down metal wolf. He was freely cycling air once more, but his exhales were heavy and whines were escaping his throat. He sounded like a hurt puppy, not a ferocious alien wolf. Hank's expression softened at the sight. Then it hardened into seriousness.

"Leave that to me. Russell, see if you and one of your friends over there can loosen those chains. But be quick about it."

She darted off. Russell obeyed almost unconsciously, jogging over to the wolf. Sideswipe silently rolled forward and transformed, hunching over. Together they worked to loosen the chains that bound the wolf to the flatbed trailer. They would've taken them off completely, but that would've raised questions from the adults. Kids weren't supposed to be strong enough to lift chains strong and heavy enough to pin down a mecha.

"There you go, buddy. That any better?" Sideswipe whispered.

[Somewhat.] Frostbite told him. [I-I still can't feel my forelimbs.]

He reported the first part to Russell, but left out the second part. Kid was under enough stress right now with his dad in a hospital.

"Then go!" Russell whispered. "Back to where you were! Hurry!"

Sideswipe folded down into his disguise and rolled back into position. He was just in time, too. From the isle Russell had motioned the two announcers down, Dan and Josh came rumbling in – one with a tiny crane, the other with a forklift. Moments later, Gibson and Roberts appeared from down another isle, done with their delivery and having snagged forklifts of their own. Hank rode with Gibson.

"Left the little mecha where you wanted, son." reported Gibson.

Russell nodded. "Thank you."

Roberts motioned towards the two bigger rigs. "We'll help you get the big ones unchained. Easier to fix 'em on the ground out in the open here. Didn't look like you had any jacks in this joint, but maybe we were looking in the wrong spot. You know the grounds better than we do."

"Oh! We have jacks." Russell reassured him. "Don't worry about it. Once my dad's back we'll get the rigs fixed up and get them back to their owners."

"I'll help get some of the minor stuff fixed up in the meantime." Hank added. "Y'know, dings, scrapes. Stuff like that."

"Need us to stick around so you've got a ride home, Greenie?" Josh wondered.

Hank smiled at the man. "Nah, it's okay. My mom can pick me up here after work. Or if she's with dad at the hospital I can call a taxi or something. I got cash."

"Suit yourself." said Dan.

The drivers set to work.

* * *

Back in the now intruder-free zone of her medical bay, Windstorm and Charity had just finished sneakily placing Headlock into one of the fixed pods. The medic also took the chance to snag her kit and attach it like a saddlebag. He rather thought she'd be needing it. Windstorm was personally thankful a vast majority of the pods were not presently in their vicinity or in the automotive section. If those had been spotted he rather doubted the children would be able to formulate a lie decent enough to fool the adults.

Now they were back in their disguises and were waiting for the small cluster of trained adults to leave. Tumbler sat on a shelf a few feet away from the engineer, her highly mobile and sensitive ears following the sound of engine growls, beeps, and other vehicular noises. Were he out of his disguise there would have been a thoughtful, amused smile on his lip-plates. In a peculiar way the little feline was standing in as a kind of alert system for them. Just by watching her ears and eyes gave them a good enough idea of who was where in conjunction with their own senses.

" _Mrrow._ " said Tumbler. She leaned forward.

"Shh. Shh." Charity shushed. "They'll be gone soon. Then you can go check out your friends, okay?"

" _Mrr._ " answered the cat. She hunched down onto her forepaws and peered through the isles, ears on the swivel.

' _Come on. Please leave..._ ' she silently prayed. ' _Primus, I can't believe I just wished that..._ '

Harsh as that wish sounded, Charity just wanted to get to Frostbite quickly, and with people here not privy to their presence she didn't dare move. She'd seen the end fight play out on the screen. The result had been horrific. His physical damage had been bad enough, but electrical damage came with its own set of risks. The way Frostbite had seemed unable to move had set her worst suspicions off, and the longer she was unable to see to him the greater the risk of permanent damage.

There was a faint clang of metal and a thud as Frostbite was placed on the ground. A breem later and the same sound heralded Groundpounder's descent onto the dirt. A clinging noise that accompanied it indicated the latter's chains remained on. Good.

" _Alright. Sure you kids'll be alright here by yourselves?_ " asked the hearty masculine voice of Dan Baldwin.

" _We'll be fine._ " Hank and Russell reassured.

" _Actually..._ " corrected the boy. " _Could I get a ride to the hospital my dad's at?_ "

" _You betcha._ _"_ said the warm voice of Josh.

The two aliens picked up the sound of a powerful engine rumble to life, followed by the clicks of two doors shutting. Moments later the gates rumbled open to permit them leave. It didn't take long for the sounds to repeat, and the last of the arena folk left. The gates only just finished sealing when Charity kicked into high gear and rushed into the commons like a bike possessed. Windstorm pinged Grimlock to grab a pod from the back and followed after her. Tumbler leapt down from her shelf and sprinted after him.

* * *

Hank nearly jumped when the normally Charity came in like a tornado and skidded to a stop beside the prone Frostbite, kicking up a plume of fine dust. Over on the sofa, Zodiac chirped and tried to look, but Fix-It gently pushed her helm down and continued with her repairs. Windstorm came up behind the slim green motorcycle. Behind him came a little calico cat with bright hazel eyes. A strange badge-like thing was stuck to the collar and read "Tumbler."

' _Huh. I didn't know they had a cat._ ' she thought.

The alien nurse swapped forms and detached a saddlebag that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen her. She knelt beside the now unchained wolf and pulled out a variety of weird looking tools. One turned out to be some kind of blow torch thing – that was swiftly used to seal up some of the armor cracks Groundpounder's hits had caused. Its blue flame made sparks as it hit his frame. Frostbite whined at the ones on his abdomen, but Hank noted he didn't react to the flame touching his upper body, like his chest and head.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Sideswipe asked.

Charity didn't answer. She dug into the saddlebag-kit-thing a second time and brought out some kind of thin, wire-y mesh stuff and placed it on the largest breaches. These she melted into place.

"Charity..." Smokescreen urged.

Again her hand dove into the kit. This time she pulled out what looked like some kind of wicked taser kind of thing with a blunt head. It kind of reminded Hank of that thing doctor's used to test reflexes by hitting it against a person's kneecap. What the heck did she want that for? Hank's answer came when Charity began gently tapping it over Frostbite's body at different point, asking him to tell if he felt anything after each hit and ensuing tiny jolt. Hank noticed once more the wolf responded to the ones on the back half of his body but either barely responded to the hits on his front or else he didn't respond at all. She was no doctor but she assumed that couldn't mean anything good.

"Oh no..." she murmured.

"What?" Sideswipe demanded. "What's wrong with him?"

Hank's heart dropped into her stomach.

Charity's helm whipped up to observe Grimlock thud into the commons hauling a stasis pod like an over-sized weight. He set it on the ground with a bit of a grunt.

"One stasis pod like you –"

He didn't finish his sentence. The stunned look on his faceplates needed no translation. Seeing his injuries up close and personal was a lot different to seeing it on screen. Guy looked like he'd been hit by a Buffaloid, dragged behind a race car on a dirt-paved road, and hadn't had any recharge for the past eight days. He looked awful.

"Is he okay?" he demanded.

Charity put away the torch thing and the mesh. She kept the blunt-headed zapper thing out. She tapped it once on his abdomen, earning a bit of a jerk from the wolf. But when she hit it against his chest and paws there was no response. Her jade gaze met Grimlock's squarely but the Dinobot didn't seem to put two and two together. He looked at Smokescreen, not encouraged by the fact his expression was black. If anybody looked worried and angry enough to strangle a mech at the same time, he sure as the Pit did.

"His nervous system's been damaged." she clarified in a soft voice.

"What?!" Hank and Sideswipe cried in unison.

"How bad are we talkin' here?" demanded Grimlock.

The nurse again ignored a question. Instead she asked the wolf: "Frostbite, can you move your front legs for me?"

The wolf whined, but thankfully the limbs moved on command. He even managed to push himself upright unsteadily. A sigh escaped the nurse's mouth so full of relief that it sounded like she might burst into tears.

"He's not paralyzed." she reported. "But the shocks Headlock gave him apparently were strong enough to result in a shut down of his tactile net and neurodes in his anterior regions. His in-built surge protectors are strong, but they just couldn't handle the sheer influx of voltage. Once they were overloaded the electricity spread outwards. Our nervous systems can take a shock but there are limits."

"...And that means...what?" Grimlock prompted.

Fix-It called over from the sofa: "It means he'll be able to move without issue. He just won't be able to feel anything in the front part of his body."

Grimlock blinked. "Oh." That didn't sound _so_ bad. That was actually kinda cool.

"Only time will tell whether or not it's permanent." Charity finished. "There are cases of some 'bots recovering feeling after violent electric shocks, and other instances where they don't."

Frostbite let out a whine and bonked his snout against the gentle medic. Charity smiled and, letting out a little laugh, threw her arms around his neck in a display of sparkfelt relief. The Canipid's tail began to wag. Hank laughed when Frostbite promptly knocked the alien nurse to the ground and licked her face like an incredibly happy, overgrown puppy. He eventually let her back up, content with the neck rubs she gave him in exchange. Hank could pick up a faint rumbling purr almost below her range of hearing.

"You do realize this is _not_ getting you out of medical leave." Charity smiled.

A ripple of laughter occurred at the horribly disappointed expression on Frostbite's face and ensuing little whine he emitted.

" _Mrow!_ "

Tumbler completed the sweet moment by bonking her head against Frostbite's leg. Though he didn't feel her touch, her speech made him look down. Hank couldn't help herself and took her phone out as Frostbite slowly reached his snout towards the cat's head. The feline touched it in return. Hank snapped the picture before they moved away and texted it to Russell. He and Mr. Clay would get a smile out of that for sure. Wasn't everyday a tiny cat befriended and booped a giant alien wolf on his nose.

"Aww." she said with a smile. "Looks like you got a friend there, tough guy."

Then Frostbite did something that had Sideswipe laughing like a maniac: he gave the cat a little lick. The cat was not appreciative of this gesture and darted off with a yowl before the metal tongue could touch it any more. The poor wolf looked confused and maybe ever so slightly insulted, too.

"Or not!" Sideswipe sniggered. "I don't think the kitty likes puppy kisses, Fro-YEOW! OW!"

He held his left audial as he glared at the Avioid perched atop Counterforce's helm. A slender little glossa stuck out of its beak.

"Zodiac! Get back here!" Fix-It called.

"Zee." Smokescreen prompted, arms crossed. He silently warned her to knock this behavior off. Sideswipe hadn't deserved it that time.

Reluctantly the Avioid returned to the sofa.

"You wanna go, feather brain?" Sideswipe challenged. "Right here, right now? Let's do this." He drew his sword.

Smokescreen motioned at him " _Don't._ "

The two opponents still managed to glower at one another. Sideswipe's sword was sheathed.

* * *

"Oh, this is too perfect!"

Steeljaw's dark chuckle echoed briefly in the old steel mill.

To see the famed and powerful White Hound reduced to a wounded rat was pleasing beyond words. Even if an intruder came in he was in no state for the next solar cycle or so to give chase, and neither was the obnoxious little astronomer. She'd probably be too petrified of the stranger to do much more than hide anyway. He rather wished there was a television in the mill so he could've watched first-hand who had given them such a beating – he owed that mech a favor. He assumed it might be the big lug they'd dragged in via truck; he bore distinctive claw and bite marks on his body. However, Charity would be busy monitoring them and generally nursing them back to health, which unfortunately meant she would not be leaving the scrapyard.

' _How to entice her out...?_ '

He had not seen the Seeker for nearly two straight solar cycles. He could assume where she was based on Counterforce's movements and that of the medic, but he hadn't actually laid optics on her. She was keeping herself cloaked...and he had a feeling that was because of the weird indigo gunk that had been on her after an excursion of theirs into the planet's oceans. That alone had gotten him curious because Charity herself was curious about it and attempting to study it with her meager supply of tools. He was genuinely intrigued to know whatever she found out about the substance.

But he still wanted that photoharp. He knew more about that and knew how he might turn it into a weapon.

He saw the strange fuzzy creature that lingered around the premises dart by the camera's position. An idea came to him then. He'd seen the Autobots care for it like a pet...and if Megatron's exploits had taught him anything, it was best to strike the enemy where they least expected it – and where it hurt the most.

Off in the corner, Fracture was busy at work delicately tinkering with a micro-cam, Airrazor and Divebomb watching. One of the little mini-cons reached forward. Fracture growled:

"Paws off."

The hand was withdrawn.

Steeljaw observed the dainty medic begin working on the beat-up Decepticon with (and this genuinely shocked him) the same tender care she'd employed with Frostbite. To see a devout Autobot medic caring for a Decepticon...a small, infinitesimal part of him actually wanted to back off and just leave her out this conflict. But he stifled that part of himself quickly. An important tactic in warfare: remove the medic so the soldiers couldn't recover. Removing her photoharp from her control was the first part of that plan. Without it, she had no defense against attackers.

Near the back entrance, Clampdown scuttled to and fro as his optics scanned the woodlands. He knew thanks to the micro-cam placed in the scrapyard that Sentenza was invisible. But what Steeljaw maybe hadn't considered was that she wasn't even _in_ the salvage yard. She could have snuck out. She could be out there _right now_ looking for them. A chilling thought struck then: She might be after _him_. The Night Lady was a strict mistress, far harsher than any Council Enforcer. Break the law – dead. Hurt the innocent – dead. Become corrupt – dead. And the detective's network was the loyalest on the face of Cybertron. He couldn't recall one instance of a 'bot turning on her. Knowing now that she and the Night Lady were one and the same...He could only imagine Her reaction to find an informant had turned over to the enemy. Of course, that was if she didn't already know.

He glanced behind him warily. Ever since this morning he'd had the odd sense of being watched by...he didn't know who or what it was. The others didn't seem to notice it. But he could feel it. He _knew_ there was someone else in the steel mill with them. Watching.

Was it the Night Lady?

Perhaps if his optics were as attuned as an Avioid's he might've noticed the deep shadows beneath the old, rusting blast furnace were now deeper.

He and the other members of the pack were indeed being watched – but not by whom he thought.

* * *

" _The master is interested in this sorry bunch?_ "

" _Silence_ _. If the master wants this 'Steeljaw' analyzed for recruitment, we obey. The others he has no interest in. They lack conviction._ "

" _Yes, cap'n._ "

* * *

Russell nearly kicked the door of Josh's truck open when they pulled into the parking lot of Crown City General Hospital. He didn't even notice the bright yellow sports car and the orange, red, and black Bugatti parked nearby. Josh didn't snap at him, just calmly got out of the driver's seat, locked up the truck, and strolled after him.

The boy ran up to the desk, eyes wide. The person behind it looked at him curiously.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to see my dad!"

"Name?"

"Denny Clay." came Josh's voice. He put a hand on Russell's shoulder. "And John Green? Little Greenie's gonna need to know her own dad's okay."

"Ah. The mecha fighters. This way."

She led them down a hallway, and then down another. She stopped at a semi-ajar door and pushed it open. Lying on a medical cot with a pulse monitor attached to his arm was his dad – and he looked okay. He had a few bruises that were starting to darken but otherwise he was fine.

"Rusty!" he exclaimed.

"Dad!"

He rushed forward and flung his arms around the man he used to be embarrassed about visiting. He smelled like burnt cloth, and the touch issued a light zap from the electricity still in his body, but he didn't care. His dad was alive. That was all that mattered. Frostbite had protected him.

Josh stood to the side for a moment, smiling.

"That's some dad you got there." he commented. "Damned brave."

"Yeah." Russell agreed. "He is."

Russell's phone buzzed then. He fished into his pocket and brought it out. There were two messages: one from Hank and one from Fix-It. He opened the one from Fix-It first. The message was a long one and written with perfect spelling and grammar:

 _Ms. Collingwood is at Jose Salvo Sports Clinic. I was unable to access her file but I did find she is not in intensive care. The other worker Headlock electrocuted is also alive and well. On a more personal front, Frostbite has suffered damage to his nervous system. He can still walk, but he has lost feeling in his chest, helm, and forelimbs. Charity says it might correct in time though there is the chance it will never correct. He has been put on medical leave until his physical damages have mostly healed. Zodiac will heal up quicker. Her damage is not as severe. I'm not sure how I'm going to replace the shattered diodes..._

He quickly showed his dad. His eyes widened a little but he smartly didn't react outwardly.

"Hey, Mr. DeManga." his dad started.

"Please, call me Josh."

Denny nodded. "Thanks for bringing him, Josh."

The sports announcer smiled: "Don't mention it. Mind if I get his number in case he needs a ride back to your place? I don't live far."

"It's okay." Russell said. "I'm gonna see if I can stay until they let him go."

Josh shrugged, still smiling. "Fair enough."

He stepped out of the door and gently shut it. As soon as he was sure he was gone, Russell opened the other message from Hank. He laughed at the image she'd gotten and showed it to his dad. He also laughed a little. Another image came then: Tumbler running away from Frostbite, the wolf looking horribly confused and a teeny tiny bit insulted. His dad laughed some more, and Russell laughed with him. He could only imagine what the 'bot had tried to make the cat run away from him like he was on fire or something.

"That poor guy never got the memo about the cat/dog conflict, did he?" he chuckled.

They shared a laugh.

* * *

Johnathan Green sat in a chair near near the window, his braced leg propped up on a rolling stool. His nose was buried in a book. His smartphone sat beside him on the counter. Honestly, he was fine. He didn't see why they were keeping him here.

He looked up when the door opened to see John DeManga walk in. He put the book aside with a tired smile, adjusting his glasses.

"Josh!" he said. "How's Henri? Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's staying at Clay's place and helping fix up a mecha. She said she'd either get her mom to pick her up or call a taxi. Why? She not call you?"

"No, she texted. I just wanted to make sure." The retired mecha pilot chuckled then. "God, my wife's going to butcher me alive when I get back if she doesn't just come here herself and do it."

Josh chuckled. "Aw, come on. She just worries about you. You know how doctors can be."

Johnathan Green sighed: "I know, I know. But I didn't do anything to help that worry any. Charging into a full-blown brawl with a busted up old mecha and old injury to boot...I was lucky that zap was all I got. "

"But you did the right thing. If not for you and your little friend stopping that crazy little mecha a lot of people could've got hurt real bad. And Clay stood up to that over-sized, souped up jerk at the start. Hope we find the owners so we can prosecute. Enhancement is one thing, but attacking with the intent to kill? That's crossing the line. Attempted murder won't fly, not in that stadium."

The bespectacled man shifted a little and looked out the window. He remembered all the others involved in keeping that situation from exploding outward: Ashley, Clay, his own daughter, the strange not-a-drone bird owned by or potentially named Zaylee, the workers who had helped shepherd out some of the folks in the lower stands, and Clay's rig itself. Just by the sheer complexity in its body he had every right to suspect it was another not-a-drone animal. Henri still hadn't explained the bird. She acted like she was under orders not to speak about it. But whose orders exactly?

"If you're implying I'm a hero, I'm not. I went against my doctor's orders by getting in the driver's seat. If I'd done one thing wrong, if the rig had failed for whatever reason, Henri and Olivia could've lost me."

He rose from the chair.

"Where are you going?" Josh wondered.

"To convince the nurses that I'm fine and I need to get Henri home."

Josh smiled and shook his head. He stepped aside and let the Green Devil past. As so many other mecha fighters in the past had learned the hard way – get in his way him, and he'd run you into the ground. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he followed after him.

* * *

 _*Note to Doom Cookie:_

 _Megatron will be playing a role in this saga, and it will actually be a pretty major one. But he no longer goes by that name and he won't really be showing his face until the second installment of this series. He might make a brief appearance in First Star or potentially Tcsovan, but I haven't decided yet._


	34. Chapter 34: HaCKeD

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 34  
**

* _Note to Alexandria: No, that was not Optimus talking through Counterforce. :P But your other assumption is correct: Smokescreen's nightmare would have been exactly that because he still doesn't feel like he's deserving of it. Take note that, in Prime, he panicked and went against orders when Optimus told him that_ – _and this act coming from someone who respects Optimus enough to risk his life for him and really listen to him, as well as try everything he can to please or impress him._

* * *

Johnathan Green stood at the entrance to Mr. Clay's property, taking in the place and everything within its high cement walls. His daughter stood before him, entreating to be allowed to stay a little longer:

"Aw, but dad! I'm helping patch up the mechas! Come on! It's not even dark out! Just a little bit longer? I got at least another hour or two before it gets dark! Come on! Pretty please with a diode on top?"

His eyes wandered around. He admitted to himself that the place definitely seemed secure enough for her to be here on her own, but he was hesitant to trust her here alone without some kind of adult supervision. With the owner of the property missing in action there was no one here to watch her, and he didn't want to pull any more favors with the arena folk like Josh and Dan. They had all done enough for him already. It wasn't that he didn't trust the place – not at all. He did. It was probably more secure than his own home. He just didn't want to leave Henri on her own in a place so far _from_ home. If something happened it would take a while for him to get there.

"Alright." he conceded. "You can stay for a little while longer."

"Yes!" Victoriously one fist was pumped into the air.

"On one condition." he added.

"Name it."

"I stay with you. You're too far from home way out here. You need an adult to keep an eye on things, and Mr. Clay won't be out until tomorrow morning from what I heard."

Henri's fist lowered. She seemed suddenly hesitant. Quickly her eyes flicked towards one of the two vehicles parked beside them like peculiar gate sentries: a rich, dark purple Tesla Roadster with faint lightning markings racing up its sides. He had to admit himself impressed that Mr. Clay possessed one; he'd always wanted one of those as a kid. On the other side of the gate sat the heavy-duty blue and white SUV that he had seen at the Thunderdome and that had held the unusual bird-drone. There was nothing to indicate why she would look at them. They were just vehicles, but he gave them a closer look. The Tesla didn't have the brand logo on its grill, nor did the SUV. Instead, each bore an odd, grim face-like one – the Roadster on its hood, the SUV on its grill.

An eyebrow rose. "Huh...?"

A hand reached out and traced the symbol, finding it warm to the touch. Strange. He'd never seen a brand logo like that before, and just from the differing styles in model he knew they weren't from the same maker. The Roadster was sleeker, smoother, more aerodynamic. Top speed was probably somewhere between one-ten and one-forty. The SUV on the other hand was big, block-y, strong, meant for heavy-duty jobs like lugging heavy equipment or pulling a big trailer behind it. Probably had a massive amount of horsepower to match, though its speed was no doubt lower thanks to its heavier, bulkier build. And why was it warm? Neither vehicle was running, and they looked like they'd been off and sitting there for a long time.

Henri grabbed his hand and planted herself in front of the Roadster defensively, much to his surprise.

"Okay! Let's not touch the super expensive cars that don't belong to you!" she said with a tense laugh. "I don't think the people he's keeping them for would be too happy, yeah?"

Johnathan Green looked at his daughter oddly. This wasn't like her. He remembered she'd acted funny back at the Thunderdome when around the bird-drone and had even spoken to it like it could understand her. He thought back to that instance again for at least the fifth time today:

 _He reached out his hands to take the bird out of the SUV's backseat, but the bird suddenly jolted back with a twittering noise as if frightened. Round blue eyes stared at him, ones that had once been dim and dark. There was intelligence in them. He could see it now.  
_

 _Henri had smacked a hand to her forehead. "Nice going, bird-brain..." she had muttered._

 _The metal bird's head had dropped as if...ashamed. But the curious thing was there had been no controller to tell the metal animal to do so, for the controller he had brought with him under Henri's insistence was still in the backseat of his own truck. A machine couldn't act on its own.  
_

 _"Henrietta Clara Sophia Green. What in the world is going on here?"_

He was still waiting for a solid answer and not an avoidance technique. Every time he thought about it just became more and more peculiar. Machines couldn't do anything without a human providing instructions or implanting code to follow at a later date. That behavior it had displayed had been real-time. There was no way whoever owned that bird-drone had pre-programmed it to react in such a specific situation. It was a fantastic, near ludicrous thought – but what if it _had_ acted on its own? He knew the big tech companies were toying around with the concepts of artificial intelligence, though they were nowhere near being successful at replicating human-like behavior in a machine. Was that why Henri was being so secretive – was Zaylee an artificial intelligence that had, perhaps, escaped from where it had been made? That sounded like a clichéd plot for a sci-fi film to him, not real life.

' _And...no. No, that's silly. The car can't be another AI...can it?_ '

No, that was absurd. So what was really going on here? Why was Henri so secretive? Lying, hiding things wasn't like her.

His daughter tried to drag him away, but he held his ground. There was something strange going on around her, and he wanted to know what to make sure his daughter wasn't in any danger.

"Henri..." he started.

She stopped pulling on him. Her hand released his. She did not turn to look at him though.

"Dad, I can't. Okay?"

"Why not? Henri, is...is something wrong?"

"It's not for any reasons you think. I'm not in any trouble and I'm not hanging around bad people. I'm actually hanging around some really nice people; they're just secretive and don't want to be in the spotlight because there are some very bad people who want to hurt them. I _want_ to tell you the truth, I do. But I'm scared that if I do those bad people after my friends might...might hurt you. _I_ can run. I'm an athlete. You..." she winced. "You're in a leg brace, dad. You can't get around as easy as me. If they get their hands on you they might do a heck of a lot worse than just break your other leg."

He stood there digesting that statement for a minute. The peculiar thing was that he truly felt she was telling him the truth now, but he still got the sense that he wasn't getting the entire story. "Censoring" was the word that came to mind.

"Who are these friends of yours Henri?" he asked. "This is the first I've heard of them."

She blinked. "Oh! they're, um...around." She would've mentioned Felix as being one of her "friends" but this place was pretty open. What if the bad guys were listening?

Again he noted her eyes dart over to the Tesla. Why did she keep looking at the car? Was there someone _in_ the car perhaps? Hard to say. He hadn't seen anyone through those heavily tinted windows. That in itself was curious. Civilian vehicles didn't have such heavily tinted windows – mostly that was seen in military vehicles or ones owned by celebrities.

"Well, um...I'll go back to the polishing and scratch-removing I was doing on Mr. Clay's rig. There's a TV over there if you wanna use it for news or something."

He nodded and let her head over to the massive wolf mecha that lay in the middle of the commons. However, he thought it odd to see that many of the dents and cracks had already been mended. Funny. Had the arena folk helped with that? Josh hadn't mentioned it, but then again he hadn't asked. Shrugging, he headed over to the sofa and took a seat, resting his bad leg on the low table. He might as well get comfortable he supposed. He trusted Henri not to try anything crazy with the mecha.

* * *

"Steeljaw."

The werewolf mech turned to face the bounty hunter. There was an undertone of smug success in his voice that told much. One brow ridge rose expectantly.

"Micro-cam's been outfitted to hack. Just say the word and I'll send it in to pick apart the Alchemor's database for the thief we need."

He couldn't withhold his sly grin. Things were marching along more smoothly than he'd anticipated.

"The Hound and the astronomer are indisposed and Drift is absent. Send it now, but wait for an opportunity when that obnoxious little mini-con isn't at his post. Shouldn't be too long a wait. He's shown consistently to be easily distracted."

Nodding, Fracture activated the little insect machine. Wings buzzing in a high-motion blur, he guided it out of the old steel mill and into the low mountains and forests towards the salvage yard.

Phase One had commenced. Phase Two would start the moment they had a willing thief, and that would be simplicity itself once they had the Alchemor's database at their fingertips. That would only take a few local minutes. Finding the thief might take longer, for they could be states away by now. But that was the great thing about hacking a prison ship's database: all the convict's data was right there in front of you. A call, a meet-up, and then they'd be in business.

* * *

Hank finished up polishing away a scratch on Frostbite's hide, the sun above sitting about a hand's width above the horizon. There were many more to do, but he was already starting to look a little better aesthetically. Charity could probably finish the job later. But really, heroes deserved the star treatment. At least for a little while.

Her phone buzzed again and she checked it again. They'd secretly been using it as a way to talk without getting her dad suspicious.

 _Why won't your Æfæn leave? Are you not of age to be left alone?_

He'd asked this question to start with, so to see it again after a nearly two hours was a little odd. Frostbite was intelligent; he'd even explained what the weird term he used to refer to her dad meant. She texted back:

 _Dads worry .-. Same with moms  
_

 _Ah. Suppose all Guardians show concern for their wards. Something our races share._

She put the phone down with a smile and went back to polishing. Even though he didn't talk much he made sure the grammar was perfect when he used texting. Was this some kind of norm for his species or was she just finding the ones who were the secret English teachers? Was it just _easier_ for them use plain English instead of trying to translate text talk? Food for thought.

Frostbite's body made a sharp hissing noise as he released some of the overheated air from vents on his sides. The act and sound reminded her of those big sighs that dogs did sometimes when tired or bored. He'd done this once or twice before and her dad had taken no notice. On glancing over to the sofa this time though she saw him looking at her and the metal wolf with a funny look on his face. She looked back at him, the picture of innocence.

"Henri...I'm not going crazy...am I?" he asked.

She tossed the wolf a sideways glance out of panic, hoping her dad might catch the hint this time around. But he didn't, and she issued a forced laugh.

"Why would you think you're going crazy?" she wondered.

"Because I swear I've been hearing that rig _breathe._ "

Hank froze, her innocent smile faltered. Uh-oh.

"Breathe? Mechas don't _breathe_." she argued in a false tone of assurance. "Even I know _that_."

Her dad's expression looked less than convinced, but he nodded slowly as if to convince himself and went back to checking the channels. Not even a minute passed before she heard him stifle a groan. She looked up to see him making his way towards her, a haggard smile on his lips. She had a feeling she knew what had made him groan. News channels were notorious blabbermouths. If her mom didn't know about the Thunderdome fight, she definitely would after they got done.

"Alright, Henri. I let you stay for a while to help with the mecha and you made some decent progress. It'll be dark in a bit, so let's go ahead and lock this place down for the night. Not easy to work on complex machines like Wolfsbane in the dark y'know, and I can't ask Josh to wait all night for us."

Henri rose, nodding. She'd given her promise after all, and she felt after all her half truths she owed him at least one honest act today.

The gates rumbled open and the two Greens made their exit. A car's engine growled beyond, and soon it faded into the distance.

* * *

"Primus! I thought he'd never leave!"

"Come now, Sideswipe." Windstorm scolded. "The man deserves some respect for aiding our allies in the arena in spite of his handicap. I personally believe he might make a useful ally should we divulge out true natures to him at some point in the future. His biographical information on the internet states he has a professional's mark in mechanical engineering from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. _Very_ impressive. Of course, we would need either Lieutenant Bumblebee's or Lieutenant Smokescreen's permission beforehand..."

Sideswipe snorted from where he stood at the entrance to one of the isles. He was just glad he didn't have to play dead anymore. _So_ boring. Only Tumbler keeping him company on his hood had kept him from going stir-crazy.

"If Smokescreen asks, I went for a drive."

He stomped over to the gates and impatiently waited as they grumbled open. Before the engineer could tell him to think about his actions, in a squealing of tires and a storm of dust he raced out into the open air.

"Don't even bother." Strongarm argued, arms folding. "Punk never thinks about the hypothetical results. If he gets impounded again, I say let him stay there this time."

Windstorm looked ready to offer a retort but his mouth shut before it came out. He merely shrugged and made his way over to Charity's medbay where Zodiac had moved. Despite what Sideswipe's stir-craziness was saying, Windstorm _did_ like the man, and not just by virtue of his profession. The curiosity he'd seen in his eyes as he'd investigated his Autobot crest had earned him a mark in his favor. Curiosity was always something he'd admired – after all, it was the curious, the questioners, who usually discovered or invented the greatest things in the universe. That touch alone was of someone skilled in the realm of machines, who admired them like an artist did a sculpture or painting, and quite possibly one who may have unconsciously suspected the truth.

That, and he admitted having a fellow engineer around of an entirely different race _would_ make for some interesting academic conversations...

He had to wonder though: would Henrietta reveal the truth to her father in the safety of her domicile? Or would it be revealed in a more precarious manner? Would he even believe her if she told him? Scientists by their nature tended to be skeptical of the fantastic at first because it was unprecedented or even ludicrous. Like the human "giggle factor" that had once pervaded the discussions of relativity and its bizarre implications, would her father dismiss the truth as too fantastic? Or would he actually _believe_ her? Words alone might not sway him, but if he were provided _proof_ – even a little proof went a long ways...

The engineer tinkered with the cryo-dispensers in a broken pod, thoughts elsewhere. He had a feeling that answer would come in short order. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, maybe next week – but he felt it would come. Henrietta had struck him as an honest young lady. She couldn't keep lying forever. Not only was lying difficult to do, her conscience probably wouldn't let her.

* * *

The one unfortunate part about the modified micro-cam was that he'd had to sacrifice most of the "camera" part for the hacking instruments. Though its sight was far poorer he had managed to get it into the scrap yard in one piece. Once in, he'd used the other micro-cam that _did_ have a high-powered camera to guide it precisely where he wanted it: within easy reach of the command center. It was still of a bit of a stretch but he wasn't willing to risk alerting unwanted company. If either micro-cam was found the whole plan would go up in smoke.

He'd already seen the big lug of a mech hauled away and imprisoned alongside his little friend. Fracture had to give credit where credit was due – anyone who could take down a pit-fighter like Groundpounder was certainly a worthy foe. The Beast of Kaon was no pushover.

And so he settled in and began to observe and impatiently wait for the opening he needed. The mini-con was still at his post for now talking to the wordy engineer. Just hearing the stream of techno-babel made his processor pound. Red optics rolled but he listened in anyway; they'd let slip some very interesting things. This waiting was starting to grind his gears even if he knew it was sensible. How Drift hadn't found the first micro-cam before now was miraculous, because that mech had an uncanny habit of of doing just that.

The Dinobot lumbered through with the rule-stickler Elite Guardsfemme lugging a pod that looked recently repaired. Fracture's optics widened a little. That engineer was one busy 'bot. If he kept up at this rate those pods would all be in working order within the next lunar cycle or so. That pace of his could be a problem.

' _Maybe this calls for a little sabotage..._ ' he mused. Airrazor and Divebomb were good at that sort of gig.

When the two 'bots passed, there was an opening. He decided to take his chance and close the gap. The hacker-cam was moved off its perch and onto the ground where he mimicked the jerky move sets of an insect. The tactic seemed to work. Smirking, he hit the halfway mark with no problems. He was home free from the looks of things.

Then something batted the thing and sent it tumbling. He cursed.

A check of the other micro-cam made him growl softly. The fuzzy alien creature the Autobots had seemingly adopted as a pet was batting the hacker-cam around like a toy, big hazel eyes wide and nearly engulfed by the black of her pupils. Again and again the hacker-cam was batted and swatted around.

"Stupid alien!" he snarled. "My tools aren't toys!"

He deployed the cables. Extending them, he waggled them to get the creature's attention. When the cat tried to pounce on the thin threads of cable, a jolt of electricity was issued. Yowling, the creature darted away. The plan had another unintended effect that was far more welcome: Fix-It, alerted to the creature's cry and panicked flight, abandoned his post to wheel after the creature.

Now – now was his chance.

Desperately he pushed the hacker-cam forwards and into the command center, keeping an eye out for Fix-It with the other micro-cam. It made it inside with no issue, and the main micro-cam had already scouted for the port he needed. Finding it, it clambered up and hooked into the DSD port with a fitted download plug. The cables quickly bypassed the firewall by causing a weak power surge that only lasted for an astrosecond. Almost instantly data began to feed into the hacker-cam. Rather than waste time downloading the entirety of the database, he filtered through the list in search of those put away for robbery. He came up with a distinct list, and from the looks of things they were all still on the loose.

Smirking, he downloaded the information regarding the convicts: personal frequency, name, list of deeds, abilities, and unique spark signature. He wasn't sure how useful the last would be without his ship's scanners, but he took it anyway.

He disconnected the hacker-cam and had it scuttle back to its perch. He made it just in time – Fix-It came rolling back to his post a mere local minute later. On that final note, Fracture sent out a code burst that would lead the cam back to base. Fake wings buzzing, it took off and began the trek. Fracture wasn't taking any chances and helped guide it himself. Within about three breems he saw it buzz in through the open steel mill doors. Holding out a hand, it landed in his open palm.

"Steeljaw." he called.

From up on the second story, the werewolf mech leapt down. He held up the hacker-cam with a triumphant grin.

"Mission accomplished."

Steeljaw's dark grin resurfaced. "Excellent work. Now we need only review the data and select our thief. Then Phase Two can begin."

"Got a question first." Fracture told him.

"Yes?"

"I think it would be a good idea to send Airrazor and Divebomb into the 'bot base and have them sabotage some of the pods. That engineer is fixing them at an alarming rate. We might also cause a ruckus and distract them enough to free some other prisoners while our thief snags what you need."

Steeljaw nodded. "I see no issue with that plan. I would advise you cleanse your mini-cons of scent beforehand as you did once before now. You know how spectacular a Canipid's sense of smell can be. One whiff can tell them a volume of information. Could lead him back here if you're not careful."

Fracture nodded and turned his focus to the two mini-cons off in the corner turning an old furnace into a tiny fortress for themselves, fighting a mock battle. He made his way over to them.

"Boys." he said.

The mini-cons jerked their helms up to look at him, Airrazor held in a choke hold.

"Bath time."

Two sets of red optics widened. Shrieking, they scattered in opposite directions as if each thought the other was a victim of the Rust Plague. Divebomb wasn't fast enough and was promptly grabbed, struggling and swearing creatively like a virus-ridden rust hound. Airrazor however disappeared into the depths of the mill. Fractured stifled an annoyed groan. Well, he supposed he could make this work with just one. Divebomb was menace enough on his own.

"Go ahead and start reviewing the list." he said to Steeljaw. "I'll get this one cleaned up."

Steeljaw nodded and went over to the make-shift console. There was a list of fifteen names, one of which had already been labeled as "captured": Filch. So he began to investigate what was left on the _carte du jour_ of burglars Fracture had gathered.

* * *

Confused, Fix-It wheeled back to the command center. He was still wasn't entirely sure why Tumbler had suddenly yowled and run off, but a quick once-over of the feline revealed no bites or stings that would require a vet's attention. He had picked up an odd smell in the air, like burning...burning _something_. He hadn't smelled anything like it before. But Tumbler hadn't shown any sign of burns on her body when he'd found her. He was half tempted to hand the feline over to Charity just so she could have a look, but he decided that if the cat was behaving normally and was able to walk she must be okay.

His helm shook as he resumed his post. Cats were strange. That was the conclusion he was rapidly arriving at. Cyber-cats back home were easier to understand.

He activated the holo-display...and blinked.

"What...?"

He leaned in closer. This was odd. He was fairly sure he hadn't left the roster open in a closed display – he'd shut it down before going after Tumbler. Force of habit.

"Lieutenant Smokescreen? Counterforce? Could you come here for a moment?"

Two voices affirmed they'd be there in a sec. They arrived almost in unison.

"What is it?" asked the Elite Guardsmech.

"Look."

He tapped the holo-display. Each split to opposite sides of the command center and peered in to get a better view. They looked at him in search of answers, not quite understanding what it was that he wanted them to look at.

"The Alchemor's roster has been subjected to a filter program."

"Aaand...you didn't do that?" Smokescreen assumed.

Fix-It's helm shook.

"No." He said it with more conviction that either had heard out of him yet.

"What exactly was the filter program used for?" Counterforce asked. "Was it designed to look for anything in particular?"

Fix-It flipped through the filter.

"From the looks of it the program was designed to filter out and isolate any prisoners with a history of heft – fret – _theft_ ," he flipped through the filtered list, blinking again, "including Filch oddly enough. If the security breach alert is right this happened roughly a breem ago from now."

Both mechs shared a dumbfounded glance. Weird.

"Lieutenant...I think someone hacked the Alchemor's database. I need to –"

Counterforce interrupted him: "Scan for Decepticon signals in the area. If we have a hacker they can't have gotten far."

Fix-It did as told. A broad electro-pulse was sent out over the nearby landscape, and another just for good measure. Not a single blip occurred for either pulse. The scanner remained eerily clean of enemy signals. Counterforce's expression became dark and perplexed. His questions came, short and to the point:

"Scanner's functioning properly?" he asked.

"Yes. No misreadings, no errors. Windstorm's made sure of that."

"Any of the pack skilled in hacking?"

Smokescreen's helm whipped to stare at him. "You think it's them?" he demanded.

The Praxian said nothing in edgewise. His sun-moon optics were riveted on the holo-display.

Fix-It flipped through the roster of Steeljaw's pack. The results were inconclusive. Steeljaw's realm was sound, Thunderhoof was talented in intimidation, Clampdown was a former informant for the Council, and Underbite could seriously use a formal education. Fracture had recently been added but nowhere did it say he was talented in the realm of hacking – traps, yes; subversive tactics, yes. Hacking? No.

"Rudimentary hacking." a tired voice argued.

All three mechs lifted their helms to see Sentenza stroll in, Backdraft trotting along beside her. She didn't look any less depressed but at least she was up and moving again, and there was even a little tint of anger in her Predacon yellow optics. Held in her right hand was Tumbler, quietly purring.

"Beg pardon?" wondered Fix-It.

She massaged a temple and said: "Don't need to be an expert hacker for this sort of gig. A _real_ hacker wouldn't have left _any_ trace. I don't think it's out of the question that Fracture might've cobbled together some sort of rudimentary hacking program and device and sent one of his mini's to do the job. He's a _np'gonz_ for the Council, the mech to do the dirty jobs – and unscrupulous to boot. Since he's running with Steeljaw now we can assume this hack was for his benefit, not because he's looking for a bounty that might not've been claimed. Claiming the bounty won't work if you have no way to deliver the target home."

They all three found themselves nodding agreement. Reasonable enough argument. Fix-It went ahead and sent a data-burst to Bumblebee about the hacking. Maybe he had some ideas.

"I see your point." admitted Smokescreen. "But why would Steeljaw be interested in _thieves_? He strikes me as the guy to look for murderers, not muggers or pick-pockets."

"Maybe because there's something he wants?" Fix-It offered.

The Elite Guardsmech cast him an incredulous look. "There's nothing anywhere _worth_ stealing! At least not for a 'bot!"

Bumblebee's voice joined the conversation: [I'd say maybe Fracture's ship but that thing's been stripped to the bones for parts. Other than that I've got nothing.]

Counterforce mused aloud: "Think: without the groundbridge from Fracture's ship the pack's field of operation's severely limited; Steeljaw's file shows him as intelligent. Maybe there's something here, in this region or nearby, that _he_ deems valuable that _we_ wouldn't dream of labeling as such – perhaps something we take for granted. Whatever it is, he's determined enough to get it to hire an unknown 'bot to do the job for him. Why he wouldn't trust his pack I'm not sure. If they can sneak in and hack the Alchemor's database without any of us noticing I'm thinking they could pull off a robbery."

[The fact we got hacked in the first place is terrifying enough.] Bumblebee reminded him. [But with someone like Steeljaw looking for Cybertronian thieves I don't think he's gonna rob a bank.]

"Our Energon stores?" Sentenza proffered. "That's something they don't have and we do."

"I don't think what he wants is as straightforward as that, Sen..." the Praxian murmured. "Of course, he could have multiple targets in mind, that being one of them..."

[I gotta agree with CF here. Steeljaw never thinks small-scale, especially not with a mob boss like Thunderhoof in his gang.]

"Then what in the Pit does he want?" Smokescreen reiterated. This was crazy! None of it made sense!

The three mechs and the Seeker could do little but stare at one another in silence. In their minds the same looping thought process was occurring:

 _The Alchemor had been hacked._

 _The hacker had specifically looked for thieves on the prison-ship's roster._

 _Steeljaw's pack were the most likely suspects._

 _Ergo, one or more members of the pack were interested in stealing something._

 _What did they want stolen?_

On the wind, a few notes from Charity's photoharp wafted over them.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Second week of school done and dusted. All the classes are pretty fun and interesting** – **save my Texas Gov't class where the teacher is blatantly saying she is pro-Trump and a Republican when I'm pretty sure you can't do that because it can cause problems. One guy in there literally said that "Oh, immigration from Middle Eastern countries has _always_ been banned!" when we're talking about immigration reform. I literally just told him "No, it hasn't," while trying to restrain the urge to give him a harsh education. God, it's barely been two weeks and I'm already dreading that class the same way I did with College Algebra first semester.  
**

 **Sad part is? I actually like the teacher because she's fun and funny. It's just that I don't feel safe in there voicing my own thoughts on the matter, unlike my Federal Gov't class. If she could just keep her _goddamn opinion_ to herself...**


	35. Chapter 35: Evidence Lacking

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 35**

* _Just a forewarning: I'm going to skip "the Trouble with Fix-It" because that was a filler episode and nothing really major happened or was revealed that was hugely important for the overall plot other than Fix-It being revealed as a warden and caretaker in one. This hacking issue will be a kinda-sorta replacement for it._

* * *

Counterforce and Sentenza's police training kicked in. Tumbler was placed on a shelf. Twin visors snapped down, one crimson, one pale gold, and together the two began to canvas the area around the command console just as if it were a real crime scene back home. When Grimlock stomped in to investigate he was barred from entering the commons by the Seeker's blade-less scythe. She did not want the scene compromised she said stiffly. The Dinobot thus backed off, puzzled. He'd never really gotten to see a real cop work a real crime scene. Might as well learn from this. He asked why they were checking the ground, and his answer came quick and clear:

None of the pack were capable of true flight, so they had to have come in by ground. Ergo, there might be evidence to find on the ground. Pede indentations in the soil for instance.

"Got any scents of the pack?" Counterforce wondered. "Any smells that weren't in this area a few breems ago?"

The Dinobot snuffed at the air but came up with nothing. He shook his helm and said no. He wanted to ping Frostbite but he was in the medbay recovering. Guy deserved a break after what had happened to him in the city anyway. But he did point out to them that Frostbite hadn't picked up any funny smells on the wind; if he had he figured he would've brought them up. That made both cops pause mid-step, jerk their helms up and look at him funny from behind their respective visors. They shared a glance, like they were somehow reading each others minds in a weird mental exchange. Slag those two really were close.

Counterforce turned to Fix-It once more, the mini-con appearing baffled at this latest series of events. He sympathized with him more than he realized. There were no pede indents in the soil and no smells – it was as if no mech had come in to the salvage yard at all. But the Alchemor's hacking stated otherwise. _Someone_ had been in here, someone intelligent enough to exhibit caution, and someone intelligent enough to bypass Predacon sensory systems and prison-ship firewalls.

"If my timescale of events is right, you were in the commons when the hack took place. You were at your post. You didn't see anything suspicious, Fix-It? Nothing about of place or strange in hindsight?"

"I need to amend your statement, Counterforce." Fix-It said. "I was not at my post the entire chime – rime – _time_. I left for a brief period when Tumbler reacted in pain to something and fled. Beforehand it looked like she was playing with an insect. I suspected she might have been stung or bitten going by how she reacted, so I wanted to ensure she didn't suffer any negative effects. When I came back, I noticed the roster file was open and had underwent a filter program, which was not how I had left it. I alerted you and Smokescreen the instant I noticed."

An opening, Sentenza hissed. That was how the hack had had gotten by Fix-It. It seemed nature itself was vying against them now.

"Wait, Tumbler got hurt?!" Backdraft gasped. "Slag!"

He abandoned the commons in favor of the shelf where Tumbler watched the general goings-on. The cat mewled in greeting and purred at his touch on her head and back, but she was keeping her paws tucked beneath her chest. When a single digit drew near the section of the limbs poking out from beneath her she jerked back and gave a warning growl, ears back. Backdraft's hand was quickly withdrawn, his expression shocked.

"'Draft, she's alright." Sentenza told him with a hint of impatience. "Leave her be. If it stung her on her paws she's not gonna want you poking at the sting point."

The Altihexian realized his mistake and gave Tumbler an apologetic pat on her head with a single digit. The cat seemed to accept, giving a short purring meow. He returned to the gathered crowd by the command center. He didn't even care about the hack, he was just happy Tumbler was okay. Earth animals really started to grow on you after a while. Sentenza's far more patient Praxian did say that behavior and Fix-It's account matched up with what little evidence they'd found. There were paw prints created by their resident feline, and her reaction to touch on her front limbs coincided with being injured – creatures instinctively wanted to protect damaged parts of their bodies. However, there was no trace of any insect tracks anywhere in the soil of the commons, at least not that he could see, but with tracks that small even a stray breeze could cover them. Considering they'd been walking around there was every chance they'd been destroyed by new prints, specifically made by 'bots.

"Still. It's not like the bug could have hacked the Alchemor..." Smokescreen mused. "That's crazy."

"Maybe not an Earth insect..." Sentenza hinted.

In her mind, the evidence wasn't adding up right. Tumbler had been playing with an insect and had been stung; she'd run off; Fix-It had gone to check on her; he'd come back to find the ship's roster hacked. The common factor in that series of events was the bug – but Terran insects were incapable of hacking anything. But that opening was oddly convenient from the point of view of the bug. That opening felt... _staged._ Planned. There was a genuine mind behind it, not the unsophisticated pea brain of an insect.

Counterforce pressed on without her: "But you didn't see anything else? Nothing at all that wasn't the usual?"

Fix-It shook his helm. Other than that, nothing out of the ordinary had happened – and for a non-sentient young alien he assumed trial-by-error learning was normal either way. He hadn't seen what precisely had stung her, but it had possessed the distinct shape of some species of insect, a beetle maybe – he wasn't positive. He hadn't gotten a very good look at it either way, but it had definitely seemed insect-like in how it moved. When he'd come back to the commons it hadn't been there so he hadn't had the chance to determine species or if it posed a health hazard to Tumbler. The insect may have just flown off to avoid further Tumbler-related problems. He assumed that was a typical enough reaction.

Assumptions were dangerous the Seeker warned him in a low growl. Cops were taught to never take evidence at face value. There was always more to glean. That bug was way too convenient to be a freak accident.

* * *

Counterforce was rarely at a loss when it came to crimes, but this was strange when taken together. There was no evidence of physical intrusion: no foreign prints in the soil. Even if a 'bot could become invisible that didn't mean they were completely disguised. Prints were a guarantee with a ground medium like the soil they all stood on. Its very nature permitted that kind of hard evidence. None of the pack could fly either, so they couldn't have come in by air. But the fact remained: they'd been hacked, potentially by one of Steeljaw's pack, and Sen seemed to be hinting the bug might be the culprit. Fantastic...but not unheard of.

"There was no way this could've been a wireless hack job?"

"Out of the question, officer." argued Windstorm. "Prison-ships such as the Alchemor are designed to be impervious to such wireless manipulation. The only way this could have been accomplished was through what I believe is termed colloquially as a hard-wire hack. Someone or something had to physically insert the storage device to download the data."

Sentenza came forth with the question of the hour: "How was the hack done exactly? Any way to tell?"

The mini-con and the engineer were quiet as they ran a system diagnostic. Their expressions were anything but cheerful when it was complete.

The hack, said Windstorm, had been accomplished through use of a power surge in one of the data ports just beneath the command center's dashboard. It had only lasted for a fraction of an astrosecond, but it had been enough for the hacker to slip past and into the system before the firewalls had reasserted themselves. The Alchemor's security matrix had not booted the foreign user off afterwards because it hadn't recognized the hacker as being a threat; the system had been unable to identify the intruder as a hostile. No acts had been performed to set security measures off. No attempt had been made to purge or overwrite data. All the hacker had done was copy the dossiers of the various thieves aboard the Alchemor onto an unknown storage device – nothing more.

Strongarm's helm shook to and fro. This whole thing wasn't in line with what she knew of the pack's behavior. This sort of job was way too subtle for them she said.

Smokescreen was quick to offer his own argument. He didn't know much about the pack, but with the Nightdemon and the White Hound present maybe they couldn't afford to be as conspicuous as they usually were. Those were two pretty big risk factors against playing their cards out in the open. They wanted something stolen, badly enough to hire an unknown thief, so they couldn't risk coming in to take whatever it was and trigger the alarm.

"Are we even totally sure this _was_ them?" Backdraft asked. "I mean, could it've been someone else not with them? Like a rogue? There any hackers on board that could pull this off?"

Fix-It flipped through the files again, filtering the database for hackers. His cursory scan revealed nothing. The vast majority of criminals on his roster were all pretty overt in their tactics, aside from a lone spy, but his file was corrupted from the crash – nothing useful to be gotten from it. Hacking took a certain degree of subtlety to be done right. If one wrong string of code had been issued during that hack the Alchemor would've reacted violently, purging its database onto a secure drive and infecting the unknown user with a tracking virus.

"So in short we've got nothing." Smokescreen surmised. "Great. Because on top of _everything else_ that happened today, we just _had_ to get _hacked_."

Counterforce managed a wry smile. His frustration at a lack of answers was not unexpected.

"I wouldn't say we have nothing, lieutenant. We may lack evidence of a perpetrator and a motive, but we have suspicions over who the suspects or suspects might be. The only thing we really don't know is the how of the crime. Evidence points to the fact that no one came here, but the hack says otherwise. It's a difficult set up, I'm not denying it, but Sen and I aren't unfamiliar with it. We'll find the how out. Just give us time. Answers don't come in the course of an evening."

* * *

"...Oh, I doubt you'll get much, boy scout. But kudos if you do."

Steeljaw was pleased with how that job had gone. Very pleased. In fact, none of those 'Bots had suspected Fracture's "bug" to be anything more than just a bug. Of course, they hadn't yet asked that holier-than-thou Drift, but he wasn't concerned about Drift. That old timer was set in his ways. He probably would never dream of a micro-cam being disguised as an insect, much less being modded to hack a maximum security prison-ship. He was predictable. The werewolf mech was far more interested in the Seeker and her Praxian partner – _they_ were adaptable to a fault, could think outside the box. _They_ posed more of an immediate risk. The Seeker herself was smart enough to realize the bug might be more than just a bug, and the Praxian wasn't reading the investigative rule book like others of his kind tended to. But with no evidence there was no way to prove their suspicions.

Cops – never ones to conclude anything without supporting proof. He'd played that vice against them well, Fracture had.

"Hold still!"

 _HISssss! GrrrRrr!_ "No, no, no, no!"

He glanced behind him to see Fracture struggling to cleanse Divebomb of any distinguishing scents, the mini-con struggling and snarling against the brush. His tactic was effective if unrefined: using a bucket of water gathered from the bay and some local cleansing solution. After Fracture was done with him he would be sent out into the woods and mountains around the scrapyard so his scent could merge with the region, rendering him near invisible, but that would take roughly a solar cycle or so to accomplish. When that was said and done, he would be able to slip in virtually invisible to the White Hound's nose – all he had to do was be quick and stay out of sight. By the time the second solar cycle came around, their suspicion over the hacking would have abated.

Oh, that photoharp was so close. But first: to remove the White Hound and the Demon so his thief could take it. And he now knew precisely how to get them to come running.

* * *

Drift had to admit concern as he mused over what the scout had revealed to him. To have someone slip past the keen olfactory sensors of the White Hound was a troubling turn of events, but for that individual to have hacked the Alchemor in search of thieves was even more so. The thieves trade was a murky one, and while some thieves were above harming others, as with his two students, the ones on the Alchemor were likely not so morally upright.

[Drift?]

His front wheels shifted a few inches. Now was as good a time as any to start earning her trust.

"Detective? I am pleased to see you on speaking terms. Is your...melancholy improved?"

[I...I didn't really expect you to ask that, but yes.] She sounded taken aback. [A little anyway. Thank you for asking.]

"What's she want?" Bumblebee whispered. Sen and Drift hadn't really spoken until now, what with the Seeker's...problem. That she was even willing to speak to him at all he saw as good progress.

His wheels shifted back. "Is there a reason for this call, detective?"

[Yes. One: any update on the kid and his dad? Some good news would further improve my mood.]

"Russell has been keeping us informed. His Guardian is recovering swiftly and should be released by tomorrow morning."

A sigh of relief. That was good to hear she said. Her second question was of an entirely different nature: could Fracture have been the one to hack the Alchemor through some kind of tool? She and the Praxian had found no evidence of a physical intrusion, and a wireless hack was out of the question. Curious question he thought privately. Pointed. And troubling. If Fracture had learned to hack...

"I know all of his tools, detective. None are capable of hacking. They are intended as traps and means of surveillance only."

[But would it be _possible_?]

The bounty hunter conceded after a moment's pause: "I do not consider it _im_ possible. Fracture is adaptive. I will admit that in favor of the notion. The most likely candidate for the modified tool would be his micro-cams. As an _np'gonz_ it is his task to keep his activities in the shadows. Disguising a micro-cam to resemble a terrestrial insect is not entirely out of the question. But Fracture is typically much too impatient to bother with such fine details as that. If he has bothered to learn patience here, that is a troubling and dangerous development."

A growl came from the other end, but it did not sound like Frostbite's. This growl sounded far more... _feline_ to him, like it belonged to an aggressive Panthron. He was even more baffled when the Seeker muttered something in that strange feline-growl of a voice, not in English but in her native Kaonian: [ _Zor'kql vit om'dvex q'qef..._ ] The Seeker's voice then came back as usual, sounding awkward and embarrassed: [Thank you, Drift.]

If he'd been in biped form he would have been blinking. That had been...peculiar, more so because her different-toned voice had faded so abruptly it had been as if a gag had been slapped over it. He stored that voice swap in long term. That sudden switching was important somehow; significant – just like her mysterious optic-color switching and mysterious night-terror after the dreadful exploration of the Void Piercer. _Something_ wasn't quite sound with that femme's psyche. That was the conclusion he was arriving at.

"Windstorm is taking precautions against future intrusions, I hope?"

[He's fortifying the data ports with Fix-It, yeah. Apparently they both have some experience when it comes to coding.]

His wheels shifted. The most productive thing to be done in a situation like this was to learn from it to ensure it could not take place a second or third time. That was why he enjoyed the engineer's presence: he was an adaptive learner. If something went wrong, he repaired the problem or corrected the offending behavior posthaste.

"Is that all you require of me?"

[I think so. Thank you again for the help.]

The line cut. His focus shifted on detecting the growling purr of a high performance engine, and the bounty hunter admittedly was nonplussed to see the crimson form of Sideswipe drive by. His wheels shifted in a mirroring of a helm shake. That youth needed to learn patience or trouble would keep seeking him out. But at the very least it seemed he was obeying local traffic laws. Progress was progress he supposed.

* * *

Sunset and twilight gave way to the glittery tapestry of night. The silver plate of the moon was now almost full. A crisp night wind swept over the scrapyard. Moths came out of hiding and fluttered around the lights within the walls.

Backdraft, per his orders, kept trotting after the Seeker as she roamed the grounds, a flamboyant two-wheeler rust hound with an impeccable sense of humor. Truth be told, the playful Altihexian was just glad to see that his presence seemed to be helping her. She was up. She was moving around. She was being a good cop. That was better than hiding and being a puddle of despair like she'd been acting lately. But she was still acting skittish, chary to do anything at night other than power down, and he knew pretty well why now. Not many 'bots got to "see" the _Tcsovan_ attack and live to tell about it. He shivered a little in remembrance of the many-armed pirate's neck opening up like a crypt lily. Images like that didn't get out of your helm easy.

Sentenza, at his side, mistook that shiver and shied away. She thought that he was scared to be around her. Well, maybe he was. He wasn't about to deny being afraid of a killer vigilante who treated leniency like a crime. But it was no good letting fear get the upper hand.

Oh, come off it! he protested. He wasn't afraid of her. Remember, the Demon didn't target friends.

The Seeker looked at him.

"Would it worry you that She sees you as a...problem, Backdraft?"

He gave her a sage grin. Problems, he said, were different than threats. A _problem_ was getting a boot clamp on his tire for misbehaving; annoying but not, y'know, dangerous. A _threat_ was him hanging a bucket of paint over someone's helm and rigging it to tip over when they so much as waggled a pauldron.

She looked at him funny. A smile tugged at the corners of her lip-plates, but it lasted no longer than the brief shutter of his amber optics.

"How are you not afraid of me, even after you saw what I'm – She's – capable of? You've got no reason _not_ to be. None of you do."

She'd asked him that a few times already. His answers were always near the same.

"As a wise animated dinosaur once said..." he revved his vocalizer impressively and deepened his voice before continuing: "If ya ain't scared, ya ain't alive."

That one made her blink and a caused a baffled smile to emerge from hiding. "I'm sorry, what?'

He laughed. "I'll admit I'm a _little_ scared o' the other you. Only natural. No one's scared of _you_ though. You and Her are not the same person. Ya gotta try an' compute that."

Her hand came up to massage her arm. That phrase could be Counterforce's mantra to her, she murmured. She admitted she'd begun to live a little on Cybertron. She'd made progress in learning to tame the beast within, made progress in learning to be less afraid of what she was. The Demon still got out on bad nights, and she still had nightmares about the aftermath of the escape, but they'd reached some kind of grey zone there. But now, on Earth, all that progress she'd made back home – repealed, with no more ceremony than a bad law no one had really liked. She was back to square one – no, _behind_ square one. She had to work twice as hard here, on top of trying to be a cop and solve crimes. And she'd pretty well failed _that_ part of her life with that hack.

He blinked, helm angled to one side. "I thought the two of ya pretty well figured out that some kinda wireless doohickey was used to sneak in, hack, and sneak back out. Tools're tools. Doesn't really matter what they are s'long as ya got a general idea of how it got used, right?" he mused.

The Seeker femme cracked another smile. "I never pegged you as bothering to think like a cop. You're not half bad at it."

He shrugged. Being stuck in overnight cells on a near deca-cycle basis was a pretty solid way of learning about cop life.

"And don't worry about the fighting." he added. "You'll be fine. If I can survive falling from the _Data Junkie_ 's underside three klicks up, I'm thinkin' ya can fight the other you off."

He was not expecting her to whirl on him in a fury. Her Predacon yellow gaze deepened to a dark mirror of his own bright amber one, wings angled down in a threat.

"How _dare_ you?!" she snapped, denta clenched in a snarl. "You have no idea what it's like! You haven't had to fight a single cycle in your life you – you petty delinquent! You don't have to deal with the stress of having a monster inside you scrambling to get out the astrosecond it senses a weakness! You don't have the fuel of victims staining your frame and damning your spark!"

Her hand rose as if to strike him down. Startled, he backed away, amber optics growing large. He put his hands up defensively to block the perceived blow, field dimming as he sent out appropriate glyphs. He was ~ _sorry_ ~ No ~ _offense_ ~ had been meant. The blow never came though. Her ire cooled. Her optics brightened again. Her wings hiked up, then lowered in tandem with the raised limb. He blinked once. Shifter's cog – Seekers could be temperamental like Felioids, everyone knew that, but talk about a one-eighty spin. Counterforce could've done him a favor and warned him about her mood swings.

"I'm sorry," she apologized in a strange gasping-mutter. "I–I shouldn't have yelled at you. You just have a...you have a weird way of expressing optimism."

She looked surprised when he grinned and chuckled as if nothing had happened. Femme, he said, what you need is some high grade. Lucky for her, he happened to have just enough left over from his bet with Sideswipe for her to have a round. On him. No payment needed. But, he whispered, motioning her to lean in – she couldn't tell Strongarm where his stash was hidden. Top secret info.

* * *

The bug was the hacker.

The bug had been controlled by someone looking for thieves.

The culprit for the controller was most likely Fracture.

It was the only feasible conclusion to reach with Drift's hesitant testimony. Fracture did have a set of tools, one of which could have been re-purposed: his flight-capable micro-cams. A few tweaks to their design would render them even harder to spot – who would think twice about a beetle scuttling about?

No matter how he spun it mentally, Counterforce couldn't make the evidence (or lack thereof) fit with the idea of a mesh-and-oil mech having done the hacking. No pede indents in the soil, no stray energies hovering in the air, no smells, familiar or not, on the wind. The hacker-insect _made sense_. It was small, it was well-disguised, and far easier to cleanse scents from than a mech. If it had been scent-wiped and flown about in the woods beyond the salvage yard it would've picked up the scents of the region, further disguising it from Predacon senses. A clever strategy, he had to give the hacker that much credit. Whoever had done it knew how to bamboozle beasts. He just wished there was more evidence to point what it was the thief was needed _for_. That could help narrow down who exactly had done the hack and what it was they wanted stolen. Maybe then they could try to circumvent the theft. But even after reviewing their dossiers ten times over he couldn't say for sure he knew who the culprit was or what their intentions were.

If Fracture had been the one to send the hacker-bug, Steeljaw must've given the order. Ergo, it was Steeljaw who wanted something stolen – and the mech had experience in the field of acoustics. That was a simple line of reasoning backed up by facts.

But the only things related to sound in the scrapyard were some old speaker systems, some electric instruments, and Charity's photoharp, and the latter would be next to impossible to steal – the instrument was almost always magnetized to her hip or else extremely close at hand. The speakers were old, in no shape to be re-purposed, and the instruments were too small for a Cybertronian to play. So was there something else Steeljaw was after, something beyond the scrapyard?

"Is there a place that studies acoustics in the city...?" he mused as he paced around the protective wall. "That sort of place would make a decent target..."

That was something to question Hank or the Clays about. Locals were always the best guides. But considering everything that had gone on this solar cycle, it'd be best to let everyone recuperate before forging ahead. He wasn't even sure if Hank was awake at this hour.

He slowed as he turned to walk along the east wall. A form was perched on the wall looking up at the budding stellar meadow above. A quick conversation ensued that made his concern mount. The gist of it matched Grimlock's statement: Frostbite had been...on edge lately. But the Canipid had been reticent about what; unwilling to share. It made him question what exactly was causing that edgy behavior. Something material – or something less so? Zodiac was of the opinion he wanted to be sure before voicing his idea. Cautious type. Made sense, he agreed. A good hunter had to account for the prey's nature before striking. Same went for peculiar feelings. No use jumping to conclusions before you had all the data.

The Praxian left her in the bed of a old pick-up truck, huddled in her nest of towels.

A quick stop at Charity's medbay revealed no new information. Frankly, he was more concerned about Frostbite's recovery.

* * *

Midnight.

It was supposed to be the night at its stillest, most tranquil phase in a place so removed from the hustle of the city. But, as Sideswipe returned to the gates he heard one thing he hadn't heard since the day after the new arrivals had come:

Laughter.

 _Sentenza's_ laughter.

 _In the middle of the night_ at that.

He abandoned the gate and drove around to the twilight shelter where the Seeker's laughter stemmed, peered around from the corner, and was met with a sight he thought he would never be privileged to see. The Seeker sat Indian-style in front of the haphazard shelter, an empty cube in her hand. Sitting across from her was none other than her faithful court jester, Backdraft, grinning and laughing with her. He blinked, processing the sight, a smile blooming on his previously annoyed and restless faceplates. This was...not what he'd been expecting to find out here in the dark. He was so used to finding the Seeker femme huddled away from everything.

"– and then Hijinks goes 'Brighten up, cop lady!' at the top of his voice!" Backdraft was saying in a barely coherent voice choked with mirth. "The whole group frackin' _lost it_! Y'know, 'cause she was coated in bright paint? Eh, eh?"

The Seeker snorted, hand holding her faceplates at the pun, and burst out into another bark of laughter.

"And I thought Punchline was bad!"

Backdraft's grin was almost mad as he told her that: "Femme. We're _waaaay_ worse than Punchline. And _that's_ 'cause we're friends with the cops! They lurv us!" He made a little heart shape with his digits and chuckled. "Lurv us so much! We're cuddle buddies with 'em!"

"You two are _terrible_!"

"Terrible." chirped back the Altihexian. "Terrible Terrors!" He pointed a digit at her. " _Funny_ Terrible Terrors!"

Sideswipe stepped forward. The sound made the Seeker turn. That smile – attractive didn't even come close to describing it. A spell was cast by it. He was so focused on it he almost tripped over his own two trods. What the heck was going on here?

"Oh! Hey there, hot rod. Good drive?"

He blinked. Was he going nuttier than Backdraft or was she really in this good of a mood at midnight?

"Uh, fine." he managed. "I mean, somebody _did_ try to hijack me though."

"No way!" Backdraft hooted. "Mech, that's a compliment here! Come on, come on! Sit! Tell it! Tell it!"

Encouraged, he joined the Seeker and her jester. None of the three spotted the pale golden and silver form peering from around the corner opposite where Sideswipe had emerged, smiling to himself.

* * *

"Micronus."

There was a soft flash as the little sea-foam green mini-con Prime heeded his call. The stiffness of his expression wasn't so obvious as it had been of late – in fact, the great red and blue mech thought he sighted a touch of genuine curiosity in his blue gaze, and in the slightly arced brow ridge. Perhaps he was loosening in light of his progress.

"Yes?"

Optimus gestured to the misty portal, smiling.

"Look." was all he asked.

The smaller sea-foam mech examined more attentively the scene of the real world, privately wondering how the other Prime had managed to discover this spying ability. What he saw made him shutter his optics rapidly in surprise.

Silver beams of moonlight rained down on a trio of Autobots: Backdraft the _a'almvus_ , the young Sideswipe, and the troubled Seeker. Two small, empty cubes lay beside the Altihexian and the Kaonian, the lack of a third indicating Sideswipe had joined the group later. Speech and laughter trickled in from beyond. It wasn't unusual in the grand sense for young mechs and femmes to run on through the nights in favor of socializing or, in the case of the more industrious individuals, working. But it was unusual to see Sentenza so...so _at ease_ at night, in the dark. Every time he'd caught Optimus spying on her in the evenings or in darkened locales she'd been dampened, nervous. Constricted. Now, she was relaxed, smiling – _laughing_. Her fear, for the time being, had fled for parts unknown. An interesting development, this. What, he wondered, constituted the shift in behavior?

Intrigued, he listened in:

" _You did not!_ " cried the Seeker.

Sideswipe, grinning smugly, answered simply: " _Did._ "

The group devolved into hysterical shrieks and howls of merriment. Backdraft fell backwards in his wild hilarity.

" _You realize if any of the rule-sticklers gets word of this they'll impound you personally_ – _plus boot you for the next three deca-cycles?_ " warned the Altihexian.

The Seeker snickered. Who said they'd find out?

"N _aughty femme!_ " Sideswipe hooted.

His blue gaze narrowed in perplexity. Odd. There was no other word to describe this strange, merry gathering in the dark hours of a chaos-forged world.

"I...am at a loss." the sea-foam mini-con conceded, glancing his way. "If you desire an answer from me concerning this, I have none."

Optimus shook his helm. He held no desire for answers from him, he said quietly. He had merely desired his observation.

"Out of curiosity..."

"Yes?"

"What do you think constitutes her change in behavior? This is a rather...drastic shift away from the norm."

The larger Prime smiled in that surreal, enigmatic way he always had.

"The moon." he said.

The mini-con was forced to blink.

"The moon?" Micronus repeated.

There was a twinkle in the larger twin blue orbs when he added to his statement:

"And perhaps the high grade."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Phew! You guys would not believe the number of papers I'm having to write this semester! It's crazy!**


	36. Chapter 36: The Grasshopper and the Harp

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 36**

* * *

Strongarm, discontent to be idle, lapsed into her habit of patrolling, circling from the inside of the walls around the salvage yard. Some part of her was hopeful she might find something to help with the investigation. Every time she passed by the south wall, she could hear beyond faint snorts of laughter coming from Sentenza, and confessed herself both surprised and puzzled – she couldn't hear the other two talking, and she picked up nothing on the common frequency. Whatever Backdraft was doing out there by the twilight shelter was lifting her mood in a miraculous way. She was fine with it until, on her second passing, she picked up on whiffs, feeble, of high grade. Part of her wanted to barge in and arrest them for possessing high grade – and scold Backdraft for lying to her for that matter. He'd said he was out, the liar! And yet the whiffs were so faint that there couldn't have been enough to really warrant an arrest, and it wasn't the strongest stuff she'd ever detected. Weak _cetver'ko_ probably, a favorite of Altihexian youth. Backdraft hadn't struck her as the type to go after the really strong stuff anyway, and if he was willing to sacrifice some of it to keep the detective relaxed, not get over-energized on it, she failed to see any legal reason to go in and cuff him for possession. But where in the name of Solus Prime had been keeping it though? She'd checked all over! He'd even emptied his subspace! Where else _could_ he hide it?

She shook her helm. That mech, somehow, was pulling mesh over her optics thick enough to be a blindfold. She didn't know how, but he was.

It was not until around two or three in the morning, local time, that most of the laughter ceased, but no screams and no Energon on her scanners indicated she was out and that the Altihexian and the punk were safe. Much as her coding (and her regulations manual) told her to investigate, just for peace of processor if for no other reason, she decided that, maybe, leaving her alone with the _a'almvus_ and Sideswipe and not asking until later might be the smarter choice. She didn't want to stumble in and wake the Seeker if she absolutely didn't have to. They'd gotten her under without the typical strategies, and it seemed Zodiac's advice to have the _a'almvus_ tailgate her wherever she went came with some impressive results. He hadn't used any of the typical strategies – just a little _cetver'ko_ or some other weak variant of high grade, and his and Sideswipe's company. Simple, and ever so slightly illegal, but effective.

Maybe, she mused, as she passed the south wall a final time, those miscreants together weren't half as bad as she'd thought. So long as they had good intentions in mind (and the work wasn't too strenuous she noted dryly) they worked hard at it, seemed to enjoy it. Through some quirk of logic she failed to understand, Sentenza was benefiting, not from a licensed psychologist, or Charity, or Counterforce, but from a punk and a prankster. It made _no_ _sense_ for the _Tcsovan_ to be calm and contained around those two, and yet there she and the Demon were: out in the bright moonlight, conversing, Sideswipe's cheeky words and Backdraft's silly stories from home coloring the night, each of the trio mildly drunk on sweet, bubbly, citrus-y _cetver'ko_.

The cadet let herself smile. It wasn't the most lawful or ideal set-up, but hey – it apparently worked. For Sentenza, that was all that really mattered.

Her respect for the stunt biker, and Sideswipe, jumped up a notch or two.

She'd cite them over the weak high grade later.

* * *

When Sen's wings canted down and the empty cube, previously filled with half of what was left of Backdraft's stash, was lad to one side, he knew the plan had worked. He hadn't expected it to in all honesty – _cetver'ko_ was a bubbly, wispy little cloud compared to the heavy duty concoctions she enjoyed back home – but life had a persistence in its surprises. Perhaps Sen's attempted abstinence of her usual sedatives rendered the mix more powerful than it really was, her body over-compensating to try to get an inkling of the same effect. Whatever the reason he was thankful for the result. That this simple plan had such wonderful effects made hope come knocking again. He hadn't recognized till now how frail it had felt.

He wondered if Sen felt it too. That smile on her lip-plates – maybe she did feel it. Or maybe that was the _cetver'ko_ talking.

When Sen's optics shuttered and she leaned back against the twilight shelter, her court jesters, sensing their jobs were done, rose and left her to bathe in the moonlight. He tucked back behind the corner and slipped away before either saw him. Something made him look up, towards the bright speckled disk above. It seemed brighter than a regular full moon to him, its pale but powerful light like polished snow – bright, crisp, turning everything it touched to silver and mercury and every shade of glistening grey and white. Lovely light, brilliant and piercing. But cold _._

So cold.

* * *

She had poked and prodded with forceps. She had examined with her optics and a small portable magnifier. She now analyzed with a portable chemical sequencer. Dreadful panic gripped her spark as the sequencer droned the result straight to her processor. There was no mistaking that powerful restorative agent, withered as it was from exposure to the air and millennia of cryo-chems. Revolted, she backed away. Her hand rose to her audial. Two pings were sent out. Two voices answered right on each other's fenders.

[Yeah?]

[What is it?]

"I've finished the analysis of the substance taken from the Void Piercer," she said. "It's Dark Energon, but something isn't right about it."

[I'm assuming you mean other than the color.] Smokescreen guessed. ['Cause that stuff's way darker than I remember.]

"Yes, but I think it has to do with the color. It's far more _concentrated_. That being said, it isn't behaving as if it is."

[What?] demanded Bumblebee. [Why?]

"My guess? Being in cryo-sleep for so long, exposed to cryo-chems – it might've weakened the substance, degenerated its molecular bonds. When fuel isn't being actively pumped around for that long it gives substances like cryo-chems a chance to build up in the subject's system, polluting them. That might be why Sentenza, Strongarm, Counterforce, and Sideswipe weren't effected by it even if they came in contact with it. It doesn't explain why the Corrupticon captain was able to suddenly heal, but it's the best I can do." She paused. "What do you want me to do with my sample?"

Both mechs replied together: [Burn it.]

She nodded. "Yes, sirs."

The arc welder was procured. Its flame flared up, and the small sample she had taken for study burnt into foul, putrid smoke. Good riddance she thought. That vile stuff had no place here. Just being within twenty feet of it had made her mesh crawl, like worms had been trying to burrow into her. Her hands, mechanically, went to massage her radial plating. She shuddered. The sensation had been unpleasant. But it was gone now, thank the Allspark, only a lingering foul odor busy dispersing on night breezes.

A sound of distant rumbling tank engines told her Frostbite was even less a fan of the putrid stench.

* * *

* _Status?_ *

* _Nearing location._ *

Divebomb didn't like being out in the woods after dark, within quick-flight distance of the Nightdemon and support about two dozen klicks away. But Steeljaw had assured him She wouldn't be a problem, at least not tonight. Apparently one of the 'Bots had gotten her over-energized. He was to be more concerned about the Avioid and the Hound when the time came to infiltrate. The Demon could flay him in a spark pulse, but the bird would spot him and the Hound would scent him before he got anywhere near Her. His body scent had to merge with the region.

He couldn't see the scrapyard itself but he could see some lights out there in the distance. Must be it. Good view up here. He reported it in.

* _Good. Still have those emitters in case of emergencies?_ *

* _Duh._ *

He slid down the sheer cliff about six feet into the abandoned stone quarry, hitting a ledge. Ahead, a tunnel dug into the hillside only to end fifty feet in. Deep enough so the boss said. He'd be out of easy sight here when it came time to retreat, and the ledge wasn't sturdy. Anyone bigger than than the bird tried to get at him and they'd take a nice tumble onto hard rock below. He leaned forward, peering out from his perch. He reported in again.

* _Good. Now stay put_. _That scrambler I gave you will keep the scanners from finding you too soon._ *

He snarled. Stay put? But the Demon was under, the Hound down, and the Avioid battered and skittish! The opening was right there!

Fracture growled: * _You wanna get slaughtered? Be my guest._ *

* * *

 _Ransack_

 _Nickelknap_

 _Rapolitz hi'itokaxv jkaal (real designation: Roadkill)_

 _Kickback_

Steeljaw's list now encapsulated only these four names. All the others he had systemically eliminated. They were too volatile, too finicky in loyalty, or else had a penchant for murder – he didn't want anyone dead. Yet. But these four – they were more complicated owing to their more colorful and diverse dossiers. From an infamous thieving vigilante of Polyhex to an archeological assistant turned grave robber, they were an assorted bunch of crooks to select from. All were Decepticons, but the _Rapolitz_ had no faction detailed. His rap sheet, however, trumped the others reputations for burglary. If the profile was to be believed, he'd stolen from everyone in Polyhex's upper classes two hundred times over before he'd been caught. Impressive, that.

There was just one little problem: the upper classes were Decepticon-aligned there. Whether that made him an Autobot sympathizer he couldn't tell. His dossier was remarkably empty of anything bar his deeds, alias, real name, and talent with a rapier. There was nothing _political_ in it. In it of itself, interesting.

' _Can he be trusted?_ '

His alias, too, was an issue: "one who steals from the thief." Too noble for his liking. He sincerely doubted he could convince him Charity was a thief.

Dissatisfied, he eliminated the name.

Ransack, a Velocitronian, was too violent despite his penchant for thievery and loyalty to fellow Decepticons. Skilled as he was in quick robberies, his style was unrefined. The mech could break the photoharp in his haste. So he was eliminated. Nickelknap was...interesting. A talented Fauxline, she was a Decepticon and formally an archaeological assistant who had taken to the lucrative business of tomb raiding. She knew finesse, probably more so than any of the others did. However, she specialized in antiques and old tombs, not modern items and scrapyards. To top it off, she was often hired for mercenary work. She worked for credits, not promises. Exit Nickelknap...for now at least. That only left Kickback, an Insectoid from Frazholn incarcerated for incessant burglary and illegal pawning of those items, tinged by a violent streak. He was skilled with quick entry, quick retrieval, and quick escapes – exactly what he needed. But he had problems of his own: an opportunist and a sycophant. His loyalty could spin 'round on a moment's notice. But, he thought, _two_ could play at that game. If he could impress him enough, threaten him enough, he'd be too cowed to try anything.

Unwilling to wait any longer, he used the embedded frequency. There was no answer from the other end, but it did go through, enabling for rough tracking of his position. The Insectoid wasn't as far away as he'd thought, roughly a two hundred miles or so to the northeast from the mill, farther inland – probably why the Alchemor couldn't detect him. He was out of range of its busted up scanners, like they were.

He kept it short and to the point.

* _Kickback._ * he said. * _I'd like a word with you. In the mesh._ *

* _...Who is this?_ *

He grinned a wolfish grin.

* _A friend. One who would appreciate your...particular talents._ _Meet me at these coordinates and we'll talk business._ *

* _You...need my help?_ * Kickback wondered in toned down shock.

* _Would I be asking if I didn't?_ * he countered.

* _No one's ever asked me for help_ _!_ *

He played him like the puppet he meant him as: * _Why wouldn't they? You have useful skills to offer, ones the Autobots don't value. Skills I need._ *

* _I'll meet. Yes, I'll meet!_ *

* _Good._ *

The line was cut.

"So?" demanded Underbite. "We got us a thief?"

"Yes." he agreed. "Fracture, make sure Divebomb's in position by the time I return, and have Airrazor scrubbed down as well. Find that feline pet of theirs."

Fracture grabbed the mini-con before he could bolt. "Gotcha."

Transforming, he sped out of the mill towards the half-way rendezvous.

* * *

The salvage yard gates rumbled open around nine thirty the following morning, Drift pulling up with Denny and Russel in the driver and passenger seats respectively. Russell hopped out instantly, his father slower. Despite Charity's protests, Frostbite had limped into the commons to meet them, the medic tailing after him. He laid down before the older human, audials back and whining, nudging his snout forward. Heart cracking at the pitiful display, he responded with a smile and pat on his snout, earning him another nudge and more pitiful whines. The big bad wolf from the afternoon before had turned into a whipped puppy.

* _Forgive me, sir..._ * the Canipid whined over his Bluetooth. * _I failed to protect you._ *

"Hey, come on. It's thanks to you I wasn't _worse_ off. I got lucky compared to the beating you and Zoe took."

His tail swished a little at his quick forgiveness. He gave him one more pat, just in case, before turning to address the others gathered in the commons.

"So?" he wondered. "You guys stay up partying all night with me being gone or did you behave yourselves?"

Sideswipe and Backdraft shared a look. Russell snickered. That answered _that_.

"It was for a good cause..." Backdraft protested meekly.

Denny smirked. "What'd you do?"

Massaging his neck cables, the two explained they'd used up the last of Backdraft's stash to share it with Sen, keeping her company until the high grade concoction took effect on her. They hadn't caused any trouble; they'd stayed outside the walls with Sen near her twilight shelter, swapping stories, entertaining her. Backdraft admitted he was kinda surprised it'd worked at all – _c_ _etver'ko_ was pretty weak stuff honestly, he said, shrugging. The amount she'd had shouldn't have done much of anything, but who was he to argue if it'd worked?

Grimlock gaped at them both. They'd gotten Sen, the Nightdemon of Kaon, _hammered_?

Neither denied it. But, Strongarm noted thankfully, they didn't seem _proud_ of it. They'd done it more out of a sense of _obligation,_ not _recreation_ , though from the sounds last night they'd still enjoyed the "assignment" Counterforce had given Backdraft.

"My only regret is that I'm all out now." Backdraft said. "Can't pull this off again even if I wanted to. Some students back home're my usual suppliers. 'Course, I _could_ try to pull a favor with my boss if it comes to it..." he mused.

"Your boss?" Russell repeated. "I thought you didn't have a job?"

The Altihexian merely winked at him through his campfire optics.

"I'm impressed you pulled this off at all." confessed the medic. "And while I don't exactly approve of the involvement of high grade in therapy, thank you for –"

"Hold on." Bumblebee interjected without ceremony. "Stop. Just stop. Back up." He pointed a finger at him, expression wondrously suspicious. "Did you just say you can pull favors with the Shifter Prime?"

Backdraft's smile faltered. An apology flickered in his twin campfire optics. He said it didn't work like that. His boss's favors were tiny things – a fresh can of spray paint here, a little thoughtful intervention there, or a dash of advice, or a quick visit – and he only provided those little favors to his followers. Even if he decided to use him as a _gztil ben_ , a go-between, there was a pretty set limit to what the Shifter could do and what he could ask from him. So he could save his question – Amalgamous was a lot of things ("literally" he snorted) but he wasn't a genie. He could get away with asking for some _cetver'ko_ , he'd asked similar favors before, but what he was wanting of him...it wasn't possible.

His twin campfires dimmed, a sullen frown forming.

"Sorry, 'Bee."

The dejected disappointment on the black and yellow mech's faceplates made his spark twinge. He wished, he really wished, he could've said "yes."

* * *

The place the "friend" had asked to meet him was to his liking: a scrapyard, a dumping ground for old parts and unwanted knickknacks. He hopped around, inspecting the items. There were many, many things that could prove to be valuable or useful. This "friend" had good taste, maybe somehow knowing he needed spare parts for emergencies. He picked out a handful of lugs and a hubcap of the right size, storing them in his subspace. Again he hopped, snatching any item he wanted. So much to choose from! Someone had even dumped a perfectly good stuffed animal and a steering wheel. Was fabric really that cheap here that the people could afford to chuck it? Textiles and fabrics caught a pretty price back home...

He snatched the stuffed animal.

He heard something then. Pedefalls? He tensed, whipped around.

No one.

A shadow moved beneath the rarely frequented overpass. A Canipid? No, a Lupioid. The werewolf mech was leaning against one of the pillars near the low cliff.

"I see you're busy scrounging for items to pawn." the mech greeted without even glancing in his direction. "But I know of something _far_ more valuable you could pilfer than dumped parts and stuffed unicorns." Two digits slid by each other. " _If_ you're interested in my offer that is."

One brow ridge rose. He hopped down. "I'm listening."

The Lupioid emerged into the light. Not the toughest looking of his kind, but still impressive in build.

"There's an Autobot base near the bay of Crown City, in an old salvage yard. I'll lead you there." he said as he approached. "But I'm not interested in human junk. I'm interested in something one of those Autobots has on her: a photoharp. I need you to steal it and bring it to me at these coordinates."

The set of coordinates the Lupioid sent him were for an old metal mill about two hundred miles or so to the southeast of their present location, hidden among the hills and dense forests. Probably where he was hiding out from those Autobots he guessed. Not a bad place – might have some useful scrap to steal. But the Lupioid was holding something back. His sly grin said as much. Feigning innocence, he asked what he needed a photoharp for. He didn't look like an aspiring musician or an instrument black market dealer he observed. He knew that type. At that, the sly smile morphed into a dangerous, snarling frown. A hand, clawed like a beast's, shot out to grab his neck.

"Did I come to you to have you ask questions?" he snarled mere inches from his faceplates. "No. All you have to do is steal the photoharp and bring it to me. My business is my own."

The hand clenched tighter. He squirmed.

"Yes!" he gasped. "Of course! Sorry! I'm sorry!"

The Lupioid let him go. He turned to leave, waving him off as if he hadn't just tried to choke him. He disappeared around the other side of the overpass. The rumble of an engine faded into the distance from above, headed south.

Terrified and intrigued, he hopped up towards the road, transformed, and sped off. A photoharp, huh? What did a mech like that possibly wanted a photoharp for? It wasn't like you could bring a city to its knees with one, or kill anyone with one. That _was_ the kind of personality he was dealing with here. Unless, of course, there was something about the photoharp he wasn't being told. The Lupioid sure hadn't appreciated his curiosity.

' _If he wants it that bad...maybe I can make a deal of my own..._ '

He followed the Lupioid. Road after road they took until at last he peeled off onto an exit that led to Crown City. More roads followed until they were on an empty road made mostly of gravel, not asphalt. Why humans couldn't be bothered to keep their roads smooth he couldn't fathom. Suddenly, the Lupioid pulled off the road and headed into the woods. He wished then that he'd chosen a mode a little more rugged than the one he had picked; off roading was only slightly less uncomfortable than the gravel road. As he led him deeper into the woods he began to suspect that the Autobot base was hidden too, like his. A bunker, or another old building? He'd heard some bases on other planets could be so well hidden you'd walk over them or right past them without even knowing. And, as he'd found out back home, the better hidden it was, the less likely it was other looters had gotten to the place. The Lupioid might not think highly of human items, but some of them _–_ maybe he could snatch some extra trinkets from this base and pawn them when he got back home.

The Lupioid came to a stop then, switching forms and prompting him to do the same. There was no sign of a base, or Autobots, least not that he could see. Suspicion began to build. That suspicion was not, as the Lupioid proved when he suddenly rushed him, unfounded. A clawed hand, balled into a fist, struck him in the helm. When he woke next, one minute, thirty-seven seconds later, he found himself tied to a tree by thick metal cabling. He struggled.

"What the slag d'ya think you're doing?!" he snapped. "I thought you wanted me to steal for you!"

The Lupioid used a claw to open up a mesh breach on his chassis, deep enough for it to start leaking and cause an alert in his processor – wound was too large for nanites to seal up on their own. He then yanked on one of his legs, dislocating it and forcing a shout of pain.

"You won't be getting in there just by walking in. You'd be swarmed in moments. No, the only way you're getting in is if they come and take you so their bleeding-spark medic can mend you. Her 'harp is kept on her frame or near at hand at all times. That will be your opportunity."

"You never mentioned me being _bait_!"

"That was need to know data and – well, now you know."

The Lupioid turned and left him with one last parting remark, tinged with a threatening low-frequency growl in his voice:

" _D_ _on't_ come back to me empty handed."

* * *

* _Alright. That Crystalline's got the scanners down for repairs. Go._ *

Cackling, Divebomb leapt from the ledge and, hitting the ground, began his frantic scramble towards the salvage yard.

* * *

" – be surprised how _dull_ that becomes after a century or two, guarding a prison ship. Everyone's in stasis. There's no one to talk to. Calls from home come in mostly if another high-risk prisoner needs to be placed, or for updates, and when you stop in for supplies or prisoners it's all business. And then being put on an alien planet via a mysterious crash with no means of contacting home bar couriers! Fighting in an arena!" A snort. "I'm never doing _that_ again."

An orange helm with large blue optics peeked down at him from atop the command center.

"How are you so calm about this?"

Busy tinkering with the scanning equipment (and its horribly butchered, sparking relay nexus) Windstorm didn't answer the mini-con right away. One stray spark jumped from the nexus and stung him on the faceplates, prompting a muttered curse. The wiring that connected to the nexus, strangely enough, looked to have suffered no damage whatsoever from the strange all-system shut down that had sparked the crash. The damage, it seemed, was focused on the major control systems such as steering, fuel, stabilization, and communication. Security in the form of cryo-chemical distribution hadn't been touched – all damage to the pods had occurred after the crash. Interesting. Whoever or whatever had caused the crash hadn't necessarily had freeing the prisoners as a priority; they'd been intent solely on bringing the ship down. The prisoners escaping had been a secondary effect.

' _Intended?_ ' he wondered. ' _Or accidental?_ '

"Torch." he said abstractedly.

Fix-It hopped down, rolled to his side and swapped one hand to an electric torch. He directed the tool where he needed it. Some of the sparking stopped.

"Who is to say I am not fascinated at everything that happens here?" he argued. "This is an alien world. But to be constantly fawning at everything can lead to a blindness that can result in catastrophe. In engineering, maintaining a sense of grounded criticism is important, helpful."

"Don't you ever allow yourself to show emotion?" wondered Russell as he too peeped under.

"Not when I'm working." he answered matter-of-factly, offering him a faint smile. "Emotions can cause an unsteady hand."

"Oh."

He flipped the system back online for a test run and extricated himself from beneath the command center.

"Did that work?" the engineer wondered. "Is the accuracy or range of the electro-pulse scan improved any?"

"Yes, it seems t–" Fix-It's demeanor transformed in an instant. "Decepticon! There's two Decepticon signals not even twenty klicks from here!"

Pounding pedefalls signaled the arrival of others into the commons.

"Whose?" demanded Strongarm.

"One is unidentified (I'll need a physical description) but the other's – it's Steeljaw."

"Closest he's been to the scrapyard in a while." growled the Dinobot. "Thought Sen was scarin' him off."

"Obviously he's getting bolder." frowned the black and yellow mech.

"Or impatient." Smokescreen reminded him, eyeing him sideways. "You said he's gotten in here a couple times trying to free prisoners. Maybe he's coming for another go."

But that was just it Fix-It interrupted. Steeljaw wasn't coming _towards_ the scrapyard – he was headed _away_ from them, and fast. Even as he said that, his signal popped out of the new and improved seventy mile range. The other signal was stationary. To make matters more complicated, he was also getting an Energon reading from the unknown signal, faint but getting stronger. He wasn't going to jump to concussions – _conclusions_ , but it looked like Steeljaw had potentially attacked another Decepticon.

"What?" came Russell's bewildered voice. "Why?"

Bumblebee's orders came quick.

"Smoke, Grim, Strongarm, Counterforce." One hand swept up to touch his audial. "Charity? Grab your kit. We've got someone wounded out there." Down the hand went. "Everyone else, stay on alert. He might double back."

"This could prove to be a ruse." Drift cautioned. "Return swiftly."

Charity joined the others at the gate in moments, now boasting two saddlebags. In groups of two they left the lumbering gate to grumble shut behind them.

* * *

The world was starting to fuzz over by the time he heard approaching engines joined by leaden pedefalls. He began to panic. Those pedefalls – they didn't belong to a combiner, did they? But as it turned out, they didn't. They belonged to something just as bad as, if not worse, than a combiner team: a Dinobot. A big beast, green and black, with an enormous car-crushing maw filled with jagged denta. An SUV, a muscle car, two sports cars, and a little two-wheeler were with it. One of them had to be the medic – no way they'd send just warriors out to drag him back, not by the Lupioid's description. At least, he sure _hoped_ one of them was the medic.

The SUV swapped modes to reveal a powerfully built femme who promptly aimed a crossbow at him, bearing an Elite Guard crest. He had half a processor to ask her to just shoot. That photoharp was so not worth all this trouble.

"Don't try anything, 'Con."

Obviously not the medic.

"I got him!" proclaimed the Dinobot as he thundered forward. But the yellow and black muscle car stopped him.

"Smoke? Get him out of those bonds." the vibrant black and yellow muscle car said.

The sports car morphed to reveal another nightmare: a Guardsmech, and judging by the marks below his crest, or what he could make out of them at that point, he was one of the highest ranking members under Ultra Magnus. Of course, he thought sourly as the mech approached, telling him how outnumbered and underpowered he'd be would have been...inconvenient for the Lupioid's little plan for him. So he'd omitted. When he got his hands on that lying werewolf he'd be doing some "omitting" of his own. The mech, obviously not the medic, grabbed the bonds, hit and twisted a device on his wrist, creating a pale turquoise glow, and the cabling simply fell away. He fell forward, pushing himself up. Interesting trick; thing might be worth snitching – if he was able to see straight.

"I'll watch your back." the bulky femme said, not taking her optics off him.

The two-wheeler came forward, swapping modes to reveal a young, pretty femme with optics of soft jade. She detached one of her saddlebags. Some rummaging produced an ion torch and some ani-mesh. Some of his ire faded. Ah. So _this_ was the medic. Seemed a little young to be an _actual_ medic, so maybe an apprentice? The world was too swirly to make out any distinguishing rank marks. He didn't care about that though, not as much as he cared about the ion torch heat the areas around the injury and ani-mesh being placed soon after. The world didn't get any less swirly or fuzzy, but it didn't get any _more_ so. Improvement. Delicate hands then focused on his twisted limb. A yank and pain later, the joint was back in place.

The yellow and black muscle car asked how bad he was.

"Slashing, piercing wound, like someone stuck him with a blade and then yanked. Most likely evidence of Steeljaw's hands." the medic answered. "Chassis was ruptured but he didn't hit major lines. Front limb at the secondary joint was dislocated, probably to make running harder if he managed to get out of his bonds. Steeljaw meant him to leak and hurt, not necessarily die."

Steeljaw! So _that_ was the Lupioid's name. He seethed.

But, he reminded himself, if he didn't bring back that photoharp, there'd be no chance to do anything to Steeljaw. He'd be too busy being dead. So, with that goal in mind, he slumped forward, shuttering his optics and letting his body slump into light power down.

* * *

"I can't believe Steeljaw would randomly attack another Decepticon." Charity stated simply. "That doesn't fit with his idea."

It wasn't just Strongarm who looked at her incredulously.

"He's a 'Con, Charity." scolded the cadet. "You can't trust them. Need I remind you, we know nothing about this mech. What if Steeljaw went after him because he saw him as a threat to his plan, or potential competition?"

In answer, she lifted a hand and pinged Fix-It.

"Fix-It? Our victim is an Insectoid; frame model based on a grasshopper. Does that match anyone on the Alchemor?"

[An Insectoid?] he repeated. [One moment. Running a search...Yes, it does. A thief by name of Kickback. Innumerable accounts of robbery and illegal pawning. He was incarcerated due to him trying to pilfer from Fazholn's Councilor, Soothsayer, aiming to steal his glass-wing staff and other articles of his office, attacking the Councilor when he called for security. Soothsayer banished him, branding him a traitor, and put a proclamation that, should he ever return to Frazholn, the colony would attack him on sight.]

A threat perhaps, she ruminated, but not as much of a threat as Strongarm thought he was. Certainly not competition either. Kickback's frame was too delicate to pose a danger to his pack. A thief with a violent streak was a far cry from a serial murderer or mad surgeon she said to her. He was an Alchemor convict though – that meant he should be placed back in his cell. She'd make sure he was stable before putting him in. He hadn't lost enough Energon to cause any problems with the cryo-chems, but better safe than sorry. Besides, he wasn't in much of a state to rob them blind or hurt anyone.

Bumblebee gave in. "We need to get him back in his cell either way. Grim, can you cart him back?"

The Dinobot grinned and hefted the Insectoid up, slugging him over his shoulder and earning a frightened squeak from her. She entreated him to be careful. He wasn't exactly the sturdiest Insectoid build she'd seen.

* * *

* _You in position?_ *

He affirmed. * _Right outside the wall where they keep the pods._ *

* _Good. They're headed back, and I spotted their "pet" in one of the isles. The moment our bug is put on that slab for an exam, well...you know what to do._ *

Divebomb held in his cackling. He knew. He knew _exactly_ what to do. He just had to make those moments of chaos count, aim for the convicts who'd cause the most damage. Or...heh. He _did_ have those emitters. All he had to do was plant them and use a signal code to switch 'em on. He'd be immune to the effects – or so Steeljaw had told him. Hard to tell when the guy was being honest when that wolfish grin of his showed up. Watching those Autobots scream and howl at the hyper-sonic emitters _would_ be loads of fun...and give Airrazor the opening he needed to slip in and snatch the cat.

He strained his audials and kept listening. He heard the gate grind open. The Dinobot and the medic split from their group and made towards the medbay. He didn't hear Kickback be put down on the slab, but he did hear him start talking. Good. He was recovering. Any moment now...

* * *

He onlined again. World wasn't fuzzy or swirly anymore. Medic certainly knew her trade. He shifted, concealing his smile. And apparently, he thought gleefully, exceedingly naive. She hadn't even bothered to restrain him, the only defense being the Dinobot and that big burly femme with the crossbow. How sheltered _was_ this femme to trust a 'Con this much, a thief at that?

"You're a lot nicer than that other guy." he managed.

"Wouldn't be much of an apprentice healer if I let you die." the medic stated, smiling at him.

He looked around. Photoharp. Photoharp. Where was the photoharp? He'd said she kept it on her frame or else nearby. He didn't see it on her anywhere. So where...? Ah-ha! Right over there, hanging from a jury-rigged holding hook sticking out of one of the shelves, gleaming and pristine amidst all the other items. Body was made of a tungsten alloy with silver and platinum outer plating, pale jade markings weaving around its body. Some steel tuners ran along the top and bottom of the body, corresponding with the sixteen pale green energy strings. He almost drooled. Now _that_ was some grade-a crafting. How in the name of the Fallen could an apprentice healer get her hands on such a fine instrument? And why the Pit did Steeljaw even want it? It was just an instrument – high end, obviously, but nothing remotely special about it that he could see.

He looked away, quick. Naive didn't necessarily mean stupid. He'd heard them ID him out in the woods.

Still though. With this many Autobots, and an almost nauseatingly nice healer...maybe, if he didn't bring the harp, they could protect him?

"Any way I could...return the favor?"

She looked at him. "Unless you happen to have training in star-ship engineering I'm not sure how much of a help you'd be."

"You...ah...you need a sidekick or something? Body guard?"

"That's kind of you –" she answered.

" _Charity!_ " hissed the burly femme from earlier. "What is it with you and trusting 'Cons!?"

She continued: "But we're overstaffed as it is. And, to be honest with you, I'd rather not trust someone who steals from his own Councilor and attacks that Councilor for defending himself."

Well, there went that idea. Guess he had to go through with this after all.

* * *

" _But are you feeling a little better?_ " she prompted.

" _Oh, much._ " he agreed in a purr. " _Thank you. Mind if I stand? To make sure everything is working?_ "

He'd been a little worried at Kickback's obvious boot-licking. But his tone had changed. There was an undercurrent in it now. The Dino was probably too stupid to catch it. Whether or not the medic or the cadet did didn't matter.

" _Just a few steps._ " she agreed.

The burly femme growled at him: " _Don't try anything, 'Con. One wrong move, and I shoot._ "

The Dinobot finished her threat by pounding his fists together.

She helped him off the slab. A few steps were taken.

" _Thank you again. You're more help than you realized._ "

" _You're wel_ –"

 _CHANG!_

He heard someone fall, or maybe hit a nearby wall, and heard Kickback make a run for it. He had to hope he'd snagged the 'harp.

" _CHARITY!_ " He honestly couldn't tell if the Dinobot had thundered that or the cadet.

He heard her crossbow discharge.

* _GO!_ *

He leapt, grabbing the top of the wall and scrambling over. Time to have a little fun.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Phew. Sorry this one's a bit late.**


	37. Chapter 37: Pay the Price

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 37**

* _Warning: You may hate me for this and the next chapter. But don't worry. I don't like sad endings. :)  
_

* * *

The pods in the yard had started out as a mess. Shattered. Scattered. Broken. All empty. But some were occupied now, and many were back in working order, just waiting for someone to be shoved in. It would be fun to break them again. He had no orders to let the prisoners out – Steeljaw wasn't interested in freeing failures to the cause – but just wrecking the fixed pods would set them back big time, the boss had said. Airrazor had orders of his own to keep the 'bots busy on top of the Insectoid's theft. Something to do with that obnoxious fuzz ball the 'bots had adopted as a pet – the same puny thing that had gone after the boss's cam.

Mayhem in the background, he set to work. He scrambled up one pod, digging his talon digits into the pods and shredding the control panel till it sparked and sputtered, then went out. He scrambled to the back, shredding the metal open to tear at the wires inside until they were left in the same state. He jumped to another pod, giggling. Quick. He had to be quick. He jumped to another pod and did the same. Then another. Then another. This was almost too easy. Whoever had made these pods had done a shoddy job of it. It was like tearing at aluminum.

Giggling more, he kept shredding. Another shredded control panel. He shattered the viewing pane on another.

How many could he wreck before anyone noticed?

A great crash made him pause and whirl towards the sound. Something big had fallen. Shouts of annoyance probably meant a crash. Between who? Kickback hadn't failed already, had he?

On impulse he pulled one of the three emitters from his subspace, opened a pod, and stuck it on the inside face of the viewing pane, right at the bottom. Would take 'em a while to find it – on top of reeling in pain. His hand went to set it off when Steeljaw's voice snarled over his comm. link. Not yet, he snapped. Kickback wasn't out of range. He'd been pinned by that brute of a Dinobot and that obnoxious Altihexian in the automotive section. They'd interrogate before they did anything to imprison him. Airrazor was almost there. He only needed a local minute or two. His distraction would give Kickback the needed opening to flee. Then he could set that emitter off to ensure no one followed. And, he added, so they could all see the Autobots squirm in agony for a while.

He grinned through sharpened denta as he kept shredding the metal of the pods. He couldn't agree more.

* * *

He vaulted over the wall.

* _Where's the fuzzy thing?_ *

Fracture pinged him the location. In one of the nearby isles, hiding between some items on a low shelf a third of the way down its length. He smirked. Easy.

* _Thing's friendly towards 'bots in general, but put up that illusion just in case. And grab it rough. It needs to yowl. Loud. If it doesn't, do what you have to get it to._ *

He couldn't help cackling. Poor Divebomb missing out on the _real_ fun.

* _And make sure it can't run to muck around with my tools,_ * he added.

He scrambled into the isle where the fuzz thing was supposed to be, disguised as the young human male. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty..." he called in a false voice.

It took only a minute to find it, huddled between two pieces of human junk on the second shelf up from the ground. Its ears were back, its tail was tucked against its fuzzy body, and its eyes were big, the black spots inside them narrowed to needles. He could smell chemicals coming from it. Its head snapped down on hearing him approach. It tensed.

"Here, kitty, kitty," he crooned. "It's okay, kitty."

He tapped the ground and clicked his vocalizer in the way the 'Bots and humans did to get it to come. The fuzzy thing hesitated for almost a minute and a half before jumping down to brush against his legs. He let it relax for a while. Then he snatched it, rough and rude. But the cat didn't yowl – it mewled in a tone he interpreted as offended. He held in an annoyed growl. If the thing wasn't going to cooperate and make some noise, he'd give it no other choice. The thing wasn't immune to pain, it had already proven that. And Fracture had told him to do whatever was needed to get it to yowl. He smirked. In a quick movement he bent the thing's leg front left, earning a pained yowl and furious squirming, but he kept his hold and kept doing it until he heard a sick crack its support strut broke. The yowl that followed that snap could probably be heard from the road, and it just kept yowling, squirming worse than ever.

And it got just the response he wanted.

He heard the sound of at least five 'Bots coming his way. Bumblebee, Smokescreen, Drift, Sideswipe, and Sentenza appeared down two different isles to surround him on all sides. He tensed as he heard pedefalls from behind and to the right. Charity arrived in a whirl of dust, swapping forms to block the isle she'd come down. A dent was visible in her side. The Avioid astronomer arrived from the air, her diodes going wilder than he'd ever seen. The worry on their faceplates was replaced by alarm, anger, and shock.

* * *

Se felt her spark flip at the sight before her. Tumbler's leg was bent at a horrid, unnatural angle, the innocent feline held by, of all people, Russell Clay. Odd though, that she felt an electromagnetic field coming from him.

"Russell?!" Sideswipe shouted. "What the scrap are you doing?!"

The Avioid screeched at "Russell" in a pitch that forced Drift to adjust his audials with a simple tap.

"That's not Russell!" Smokescreen translated. "It's a jerk mini using a holo-field!"

Drift frowned, "One of Fracture's, I suspect. They are outfitted with such fields."

"Russell" shimmered until an angular violet mini-con was revealed in his place. Drift deployed Slipstream and Jetstorm. At her side, Sentenza removed the bar from her hip to let the crimson energy blade out of hiding.

"Put. The. Cat. _Down_ ," the Seeker snarled. " _ **NOW!**_ "

She was encouraged to see Airrazor flinch back as the scythe was jabbed towards him, and as the Seeker's voice became more like that of a snarling, spitting Tigerhawk. But Airrazor didn't put Tumbler down. Instead, he tapped the damaged leg. Tumbler yowled and squirmed.

"Stop!" Bumblebee demanded. "Stop it! Leave her alone!"

From her post behind the mini-con, she saw Charity quietly slink forward, backstrut hunched into a slight arc and hands out to steady her. The tip of her trod was the first to touch down, and then the rest of her trod followed in a slow cascade. Her left trod followed the pattern of the right. She suddenly couldn't hear her steps, and the vibrations contact made were small – amazingly so. She jolted on realizing why the movement seemed familiar – the movements matched those of a stalking Felioid.

' _You're just full of surprises, aren't you?_ '

"Nice try, sweetie," Airrazor warned, not even looking back, "but you're no Felioid."

The medic's pede paused mid-stalk. Her backstrut uncurled and her arms and hands returned to her side. The pain in her soft jade optics made a part of her spark crack.

"What do you want, Airrazor?" she asked quietly. "What do you want so badly you're willing to torture an innocent animal?"

"Let bug boy go," he growled. "Let him go, and no following him. And you're off. Fuzz-mouth here isn't so innocent as you think. Boss is mad at her, see."

"What?" Drift demanded. "Fracture has not been here for weeks. What cause does he have to be irate at a domestic cat that does not stray from this narrow area?"

Airrazor's optics widened.

The lieutenant lifted a hand to his audial.

"Sir, you're not seriously going to give in to his demands?" she hissed.

His voice was iron as he answered, "Yes, I am," before he went on to address the team watching Kickback. "Guys, let Kickback go."

Being on the common frequency wasn't necessary to hear their incredulity. She could practically hear it from there.

"I said let him go. That's an order."

"And if you won't take it from him, take it from me," Smokescreen added. "Let him go. A photoharp isn't worth a life."

The pause that followed was long enough to get Airrazor tense again. Just as he was about to tap Tumbler's damaged leg again, he confirmed that Kickback had been released, and no one was following him. There was no way to deny that the little menace had the upper hand, but she was intrigued to note the lieutenant didn't mention whether or not Fix-It was tracking his signal. Airrazor didn't seem remotely aware of that little possibility.

' _Or maybe tracking isn't an issue?_ '

"We did what you asked, pipsqueak," Sideswipe snapped. "Now let her go."

The Seeker emphasized his request with another angry Felioid snarl. Her yellow gazed flickered red as her hands tightened around the scythe's pole. Again Airrazor flinched back in abject terror. But he didn't release Tumbler.

"We complied," Drift growled. "Now you will do the same. Release her."

"Mm," Airrazor hemmed. "Sure. I'll let fuzz ball go. After I make sure she can't mess with the boss's toys again."

"She has a broken leg, you little monster!" Smokescreen snapped. "You don't need to –"

One clawed hand clamped around the already damaged limb. Pain erupted in her audials and helm, and in the audials and helms of the others. She collapsed to her knee pikes in less than a second. Through the painful ring she heard Zodiac shriek louder than she had on the night of her arrival – a wail of fury only a Predacon could accomplish. She tried to lift her helm, to look up to see what had been done, but the agony was too much. Her audials screamed in pain once more, and her processor shut down.

* * *

It was supposed to have worked on the Avioid. It was common knowledge that Predacon senses, no matter the size of the owner, had increased receptivity to sensory input. That included hearing. That it was as painful as a fly buzzing near her audial was unexpected.

Frustrated, he flung the datapad to the side to strike the nearest wall.

His thief had succeeded – albeit with aid – and was on his way to deliver. That was what mattered. Success was success. Once the instrument was in his hands, divulging its secrets, it wouldn't matter if three mini-cons and an Avioid were immune to the sonic emitters. It wouldn't matter if they found the emitter and their larger companions woke.

* * *

"Backdraft?! Grimlock?! Officer Counterforce!?"

Uselessly he shoved at the inert form of the Dinobot. He didn't understand it. Minutes after Kickback had been captured, his captors had fallen to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain, hands clamped over their audials like they were trying to block something out. Panicked, had rushed forward to deactivate their audials. He hadn't been fast enough. Now, Grimlock, Backdraft, and Counterforce were all unconscious. He had to assume the same was true for the others, who had rushed off to protect Tumbler after hearing her yowl. He had heard it again shortly after, and for Frostbite, who had detected noises near the pods. Denny had run to see if Tumbler was alright.

And now he heard the yowl again, worse and louder than ever. His spark nearly stopped.

"TUMBLER!" Russell cried.

The boy broke into a frantic run, nearly stumbling over himself.

A shriek split the air before it could finish – a Primes-awful noise that tore into his audials like the talons of its owner. He heard someone scream in pain in one of the isles nearest the east wall. He abandoned the prone forms to follow Russell. He knew that voice print. He heard Zodiac shriek again, the sound reverberating over the hills. Again the Avioid screamed her wrath. The new voice print howled in pain a second time. But he did not hear Zodiac scream again. Both horrible sounds stopped as abruptly as they'd started.

" _Get her to the car, Zoe!_ " Mr. Clay's voice was frightened. " _Hurry!_ "

One klik later and the Avioid soared over his helm in a whirl of star-studded night, clasping something white, brown, and black in her claws. White, brown, black – and red-stained floral. A globule of the red dropped to the dusty ground before him. He analyzed it. His spark flip-flopped.

Blood.

Tumbler.

 _Primes, no!_

Russell recognized her less than a klik after him, "Tumbler?! Oh my God!"

Focused on the older man's order, Zodiac ignored him and made a bee line for his vehicle. Her wings flared and pumped as she gently lowered Tumbler to the ground. Denny, Slipstream, and Jetstorm peeled into the isle in a sprint. Part of the man's shirt was torn in a pristine fashion. A bladed weapon? Or talons? The Avioid keened desperately at all of them, then proceeded to gently press her beak, top first, into the cat's chest. Russell was the first to reach her, and he wasn't far behind him. Seeing the damage up close was...it was all he could do not to purge. "Grisly" was putting it mildly. So much blood, and –

"Oh my God, oh my God!" he gasped. "Dad, where's her leg?!"

"Russell, your shirt," his father demanded crisply. "Give it to Zoe. We need to staunch the bleeding. She won't make it to the vet otherwise."

Russell surrendered his shirt without pause. Zodiac snatched it from him faster than the boy could blink and proceeded to shred it with her claws, proving they were the culprit behind Denny's own shredded attire. Parts were shredded into large patches, others into strips. A subsequent form switch and she began winding the cloth around the bleeding stump, using the long strips to tie it around her waist to keep the patches tight.

Slipstream shuttered his optics rapidly, "You have medical training?"

"I have a ship medic and a rust hound who gets her snout into things she shouldn't," she explained in a hurry, "so yeah."

She finished the bandaging. Already the second layer was beginning to stain crimson.

"Get her in the car."

In a whirl of wind she was off. Denny had barely managed to get the cat situated in the back seat when she returned, a tiny vial filled with a few drops of white liquid that billowed with false steam held in her hand.

Jetstorm's optics widened, "Is that...?"

The Avioid didn't bother to answer. She jogged forward, leaned into the car, and poured the dangerously cold substance onto the twin-layered fabric bandages. A thin armor of nitrogen ice crystals formed almost instantly.

"That'll buy some time by slowing the bleeding," she said. "Fix-It, get 'em a bridge to the best emergency vet clinic in town."

He nodded and rolled to the command center to input the coordinates. The portal roared open on command. No flux in the vortex. Promising. Regardless, he sent up a pleading, desperate prayer to Micronus, watching from the safety of the command center as the Clay's car and its precious cargo disappeared inside. He was almost too scared to check the equipment for the signal of the tracking device in Denny Clay's shirt pocket.

Almost.

One glance – one was all it took to calm his somersaulting spark. Not settle. Calm.

"They've made it," he reported.

"Yes!"

"Wonderful news!

"Don't get your hopes up just yet, boys," the astronomer snarled. "Now the real fight starts."

* * *

There weren't many things in life he regretted doing, and all of them revolved around not being careful enough in a job. But now, racing through the woods' uneven terrain as fast as he could, he felt regret. Striking out at that medic had been slagged hard. The instant his legs had started in her direction, his spark had screamed at him to stop, to not hurt her. Charity didn't deserve it; She'd been nice to him. Steeljaw'd never said to _hurt_ her – just steal her 'harp. Did he really need to go that far? The thought process had been foreign, but it had made sense.

But he'd done it anyway.

He'd hurt her.

And he regretted it. Femme hadn't tried to fight back. At all. She'd just...taken it.

But it wasn't like he could just turn around, hand the thing back, apologize, and beg for mercy. Something bad had happened at the yard, something that had caused a slagload of tortured screaming. And yowls.

He peeled off the road again and back into the wooded hills. He was more convinced than ever now that Steeljaw's plans for the 'harp weren't innocent. Whatever had happened to the 'Bots hadn't been pretty, and if he was willing to have one of his friends attack one of the local critters so his freedom could be bargained for then he meant business. For that matter, he'd _known_ he'd been captured. Somehow he'd monitored him. He'd probably know if he turned the slag around, too. That wouldn't fly with someone like Steeljaw.

The coordinates were getting nearer.

Drawing up onto a hilltop, he swapped forms to get a better lay of the area. He couldn't see the Lupioid's base right away, but he did spot that the treeline was thinned out in one area, and through it he thought he caught a flash of grey metal. Coordinates seemed accurate at least. _Something_ was there alright. He had to wonder though if Steeljaw had anything to pay him with – or if he even meant to pay him at all. "A worn tool," as Kaonians said, "is only replaced by the impatient." That's what he was: a tool. And he'd served his purpose to an impatient user. Good chance of being slagged if he bailed, probably slagged if he went through with the delivery, too. He had half a processor to just drop the thing on his doorstep like a live bomb and make a break for it, screw any payment.

Being lied to was one thing. Being knocked out and damaged by the guy who hired you – and 'bots wondered why he didn't go blindly trusting others.

So Steeljaw wanted to play dirty? Fine.

He'd play dirty back.

A short time rummaging through his subspace and he found what he was looking for. He prised open the 'harp's sonic synthesizer and stuck the little device as far back into the cavity as it would go before carefully sealing it again, leaving no evidence of it having been opened. Done, he headed towards the clearing on the far mountainside. Below the treeline it was harder to see the whatever-it-was, but the coordinates were getting closer. Finally he could see the source of the grey metal through the trees.

And it wasn't an old steel mill.

"Are you slagging me right now?" he snarled.

It wasn't an old steel mill – it was an old mining site, the equipment degraded and practically falling to pieces. An old, dilapidated storehouse riddled with holes and rusting into the dirt was what he'd seen from the hilltop. A tree poked through a hole in its rusted-out roof.

Steeljaw had lied about what was located at the coordinates.

Go figure.

' _At least my boss doesn't lie to me..._ '

There was no door to block entry, not that entry was a problem considering how many holes in the walls and ceiling there were. Strands clung to the rafters and coated what was left of equipment inside. If it weren't for the sunlight coming in through the ceiling's many, many holes, the place would've been creepy. But where as Steeljaw?

"Hello?"

* * *

"I hope you stuck to our agreement, Kickback."

He emerged from behind the old tree's trunk.

The Insectoid looked less than pleased to see him. Expected.

"Yeah, I have it," he confirmed.

One hand extended, "Hand it over then."

Kickback rummaged in his subspace and brought out the instrument, undamaged and in once piece. He could get a closer look back at the mill, but the physical quality of the instrument was not done justice through the micro-cams. Pale silvery grey plating was made lively through the addition of vegetal designs that wrapped around its body. One pluck of a single string convinced him the instrument was of Harmonexian make. Only their _kevz'tuvsyt_ could create sound of this superb quality.

He glanced up, "I suppose you want payment for a job well done?"

The Insectoid snorted, "Unless you have a thousand credits to make up for the fact you that you lied to me, tricked me, and damaged me to use me as bait, then no. Not interested. And if you ask for my help again, you're not getting it."

Kickback turned, transformed, and sped away. Just as well, he supposed. He didn't have what he wanted.

He waited until Kickback's engine noise was gone, then transformed and headed for the mill.

* * *

"A sonic attack?" Slipstream repeated.

The commons was always mostly quiet during some parts of the twenty-four hour cycle. She liked it those times. This quiet she didn't like. Maybe because there was no ambient background garble going on. The entire yard was dead quiet.

"That's the only thing that fits with their reactions," she agreed. "Their hands instantly went for their audials when they started screaming, remember. They were trying to deactivate them – block out something."

All three mini-cons argued that they hadn't heard a thing.

"Obviously," she snorted, "it was at a frequency beyond the range of mini-cons. That's only logical. Otherwise Airrazor would've konked out too. And then there goes his leverage over us."

But she was a Predacon, Jetstorm protested. Frostbite had been affected. Wouldn't she have heard it too? Predacons had the best hearing of any frame.

"That's a generalization," she corrected in a terse snap. "Depending on frame model, sensory acuity can differ pretty drastically among us. Avioids like me are known for keen sight, _not_ for acute hearing."

"So _that_ is how you knew it wasn't Russell tormenting Tumbler!" Slipstream exclaimed.

"Wait, _what?!_ " Russell demanded.

Slipstream left the boy behind, "You saw past Airrazor's holo-field!"

"Not exactly," she argued. "Some Avioids _can_ see past illusion disguises – Warsong's one of 'em – but I can't. All I see is this, how do I explain it – this weird _fluxing_ in the air. Like...like one of those heat mirages you see on hot roads, or ripples on water. I can tell an illusion is being used, not necessarily who's using it."

"So if Fix-It used a field like Airrazor's," Russell said slowly, "and they stood right next to each other using the same disguise –"

"I mean, you'd have to leave out personal electromagnetic fields, spark signatures, and scent," she said quickly. "But yeah. Strip it down to nothing but the fields, and I wouldn't be able to tell who was who. Just that they were each using illusions. Speaking of scent, by the way," she added. "I didn't smell Airrazor. I know I'm no Canipid, and I'm not a tracker by any means, but I was barely fifteen feet from him. Airrazor just...smelled like the woods. And cleaning solution. I think we can reach another unanimous conclusion through that."

"Pre-planned?" Russell guessed.

He was quick on the uptake. Lot more than his dad was.

"Why would a thief like Kickback go to such lengths for a photoharp?" wondered Jetstorm.

"Because," she growled, "Kickback was working under orders from Mr. Werewolf. Airrazor being here proves that. We know Fracture's with him. This was all Steeljaw. Every. Single. Move. Kickback was just a tool for hire. He needed an outside mech to keep as much suspicion off him as he could. 'Course, he royally blew it by involving Airrazor."

Fix-It agreed. Why Steeljaw wanted the photoharp was the bigger question. It was just an instrument. As Jetstorm had pointed out, why go to all this trouble over an instrument?

"I don't think that's what she's going for, Fix-It," Russell insisted. "Is it?"

Thank Onyx for the boy's sharp mind.

"No," she agreed. "Here are the important questions: _H_ _ow in the hell did even know about it to begin with? What does he plan to do with the 'harp? What does he know about it?_ More importantly: _how did he know about Tumbler?_ "

Dead silence. Fix-It's optics widened in time with Russell's.

"Now can we _please_ focus on figuring out the where and how of this sonic attack? In case ya'll forgot, our friends are still out of it. We're on our own, and for all we know, Steeljaw and his buddies are on their way right now to stomp all over us while the big guns are out."

Cackling came from one of the isles, joined by another, loud and clear and definitely not interesting in hiding. The noise wasn't fading. It was headed right for them.

"Oh, fracking fantastic!" she deadpanned. "Looks like the gremlin wasn't alone!"

Two violet forms appeared in the isle. One of the little _utbnk_ still had blood on him. At least now she could smell him.

"Polly want a cracker?" Airrazor teased.

Divebomb hissed and swatted at him, "She's a hawk, moron, not a parrot!"

"Oh, look," she sneered. "It's Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle _Prick_. I'm actually glad you haven't left yet. I got a little present for you..."

Each little menace shared a glance. Heat broiled in her chassis. Her fists clenched. She abandoned her bipedal form in favor of one far more capable of shredding demonic mini-cons. She was pleased to see that Divebomb at least understood the mistake Airrazor had made. She flew at them in a hurricane, setting her diodes to flash in a wild display, like a strobe light gone feral. She didn't hear Fix-It's shout to stop. All she heard was an incessant pounding in her processor – one that demanded a price be paid. Airrazor's scream barely managed to overtake it as her talons pinned his kicking limbs into the dust.

The pounding became words.

 _Si'preibj maetyat'kiava zilkej izsh_

 _The cost must equal what was taken.  
_

Yes.

Airrazor had taken something. Now he would have something taken from him in return.

"CAPTAIN! STAND DOWN!" Fix-It hollered.

She refused.

Her talons extended, slashed.

Airrazor screamed.

A leg, severed, thunked to the ground.

* * *

He had expected death for Airrazor. Predacons were not renowned for leniency in punishing criminal acts. Zodiac was clearly no exception. Terrified, the mini-cons stumbled away. They didn't make it fifteen feet before the Avioid flew at them again, pinning Divebomb this time. Gone were her sweeter-toned keens and chirps. The scream that escaped her beak was hoarse and powerful. Divebombs hands went to cover his audials. Airrazor kept hobbling away.

"Zodiac!" Russell called.

His voice seemed to snap her out of it. Her helm jerked up to peer at Slipstream and Jetstorm, then jerked towards the fleeing form of Airrazor. Both mini-cons broke into runs, tackling the offending mini-con to the ground and dragging him back into the commons. Lucky for Airrazor she'd sliced the limb off at a joint, and cleanly, resulting in only a few drops of fuel dripping onto the ground. She swapped forms and ran over, dragging Divebomb behind her by a leg.

"Fix-It," she snipped.

He understood what she wanted. He whirred around towards the back of the command center and gathered two pairs of stasis cuffs from a storage container. One set he passed to Drift's students, the other to her. In near unison they were clamped on.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, captain," he noted.

Some of her temper died. " _Avius folhis,_ " she said. "No one hurts my flock mates."

"W-what are you gonna do to us?" Airrazor stammered.

"I've already done as bad as I can," the Avioid shrugged. "So we're just gonna have a little _talk_. Alright? If you behave, I'll have Fix-It see to that leg. If not, you'll get shoved in a pod till you're ready to cooperate."

* * *

It seemed Fracture and Steeljaw both had misjudged the astronomer's personality. She was just as much a Predacon as a Well Guardian. By having Airrazor amputate the cat's leg after it was already broken, they'd kicked a scraplet nest way more than they should have. He'd insisted that the simple strut support break had been enough, but Fracture hadn't listened. All because he was mad at it for playing with his camera.

"So you wanna play dirty, do you, bird-brain?" Fracture growled. "Fine."

"Fracture, I-I _really_ don't think that's a good idea..." he insisted. "You saw what she did!"

The _np'gonz_ whirled on him, "You're not in charge, side-walker. Until Steeljaw gets back, I am. And I say that bird needs reminding over who rules the roost here."

"And if we don't gets those two out, theys gonna spill like a waterfall," Thunderhoof snorted. "Little lady's got more temper on her than I thought."

"Don't tell them anything!" Fracture snapped into his comm. link. "We're on our way."

* * *

 **Author's Note: No. Tumbler's not dead. Please don't flame-war me. She'll be fine. I've had this planned for a while now.**


	38. Chapter 38: Trigger

**Nature of the Beast**

 **Chapter 38**

* * *

"Talk, _sikyro'uqcei!_ "

Her tiny energy blade thrust forward.

He remembered being afraid of Zodiac the first night. He'd barely been able to see her dulled midnight blue-black form swoop down until she was practically on top of him. He'd panicked when he'd felt her beak around his hoodie moments before being lifted into the air. The plate in his hands had dropped in the hopes that his dad or Grim would hear it, terrified she'd fly off with him. But she hadn't. She'd done nothing to him. She'd brought him inside the walls, had set him down, and had put the hoodie back over his head before pecking at it and trying to communicate in space-geek code before realizing that was a failure and rolling her optics like an exasperated girl would at a bunch of dense guys. When the concept of fighting a bunch of convicts had come up, she'd hidden, and only a promise from 'Bee had drawn her back out. At the end of the day, she was a scientist like Windstorm, not a soldier. She was the kind to stay back and watch, not fling herself into a fight – not unless the situation demanded it.

Seeing her busy threatening Fracture's mini-cons – he had to admit himself maybe he'd let himself jump to conclusions. Scientist? Check. Scientist you _really_ shouldn't make angry? Double check.

"Zodiac, they won't talk if you keep threatening them like that," he argued. "You made them a deal. You're supposed to play nice cop, not bad cop."

She tossed him a sideways glare that said she about as eager to be nice to them as she was to remove the cuffs. He folded his arms and glared back. Her wings twitched once. Her sword lowered. The Avioid took in some air and let it out. He let out a sigh of relief.

"You said something about Tumbler messing with your boss's toys. Talk."

Divebomb snarled "Dimwatt!" and kicked Airrazor.

"The statement is true, then," Slipstream noted. "Fracture has planted a device in or around this place at some point recently, and Tumbler found it."

"And you hurt her because of it!" his brother concluded in a snap of his nunchucks.

Both cuffed mini-cons snarled and said nothing.

Fix-It jumped on their silence, "A-ha! So you're not denying it!"

Zodiac demanded in a voice of steel where the device was.

"Which device?" Divebomb wondered. "Fracture's got tons of 'em."

She drew her weapon, " _Don't_ play dumb with me. You know which device."

"Do I?"

The shrieking snarl that escaped made him recoil and hug Airrazor for protection.

"Tell. Me. _Now._ Or you're both going in a pod as frozen _o'dourves_ for Frostbite when he wakes up. We Preds aren't as picky about where our fuel comes from..."

Both mini-cons hugged each other at that, whimpering. It was hard to feel sorry them. Pathetic jerks were the worst kind. They were the kind to punch someone in the face and then, when faced with consequences, cry and run. And Zoe, for all her shy, nerdy, scientist self, was pretty terrifying when she wanted to be – not Sentenza level terrifying, but still. He was right to have been scared that first night. She had the capacity to do a lot of harm if she wanted to. Lucky for them all that she was more scientist than beast.

Zodiac took a threatening step forward, "Talk. Or you're dog food."

"Okay, okay!" shrieked Airrazor. "Fracture put a device here! It's –"

Divebomb kicked him again, "Don't tell them anything!"

Airrazor fell silent.

"I'm losing my patience here, boys," Zodiac growled through folded arms. "Unless you tell me where that device is, I'll –"

"Captain!"

Her helm swung alongside his. Fix-It was panicking at the command center. Multiple purple dots were blinking on his display. Zodiac saw them too, and gave a series of strange piercing noises on sighting them that forced him to clamp his hands over his ears. She said something to Fix-It, or maybe asked – it was hard to hear over the ringing in his ears. It began to fade in only a minute or so, and the conversation that was going on between Zodiac and Fix-It didn't exactly improve his mood.

"– minutes at most."

He didn't expect to hear alien language come out of her mouth. It didn't sound like the language Sentenza sometimes used. The words that came out were smoother and didn't have that sudden stop-start thing going, with a clicking, growl-y something somewhere in her throat. At the same time, her diodes closest to her shoulder flashed fast in a weird pattern. It wasn't Morse code but it looked like the same sort of idea. Fix-It understood the blinks and flashes a lot better than her words.

"Less than a minute," he answered.

Zodiac frowned but nodded, answering in plain English that "that would have to do."

Fix-It abandoned the command center and made for its underbelly, mumbling something about Windstorm. She took up a place in front of the command center to block the other mini-con's work. He pulled out his phone to check the time. When a minute had passed, two bright blue orbs emerged from the shadows. Zodiac moved to let him out.

"Anything else you can think of that might even the odds?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"This is your ship, Fix-It," she said. "I was just offering a suggestion I read about in the Hall of Records to give us an edge. You give the word, we'll follow."

Slipstream and Jetstorm chimed their agreement. The look on the orange mini-con's face said that statement was the last thing he'd been expecting out of her, but the fierce grin said he was more than happy to hear it. That grin quickly became a serious frown. The brisk, certain voice that spoke wasn't the stuttering, rambling mini-con he was used to hearing. It was someone experienced talking.

"Slipstream, get Russell someplace safe," he said. "Zodiac, Jetstorm, take up positions near one of the fruits – _groups_. Wait for my orders."

* * *

It made strategic sense for the boy to head for the main structure in the scrap yard – a "diner" Denny Clay called it, that doubled as a gathering place for the two. Of all the sectors it was the best fortified. Whether or not the metal-coated building would slow down Underbite – cover was cover either way he guessed. There was no evidence he could see of the building being targeted before, so maybe that was proof Underbite wasn't interested in the structure for whatever reason. But they were some ways from the fallen groups.

The boy rammed himself into the swinging glass doors and skidded around behind the counter. Not a barricade or wall, but it would offer cover for them both so long as he stayed low. He ducked down beside him. What he wasn't expecting to see was a red button and a long-barreled ranged weapon stuck to the underside of the counter's edge by some silver strips. Russell tugged at the strips to no use.

"Can I get a hand?"

He tugged at the silver strips (an adhesive – a strong one) and the weapon was freed. On seeing the trigger on the weapon, his spark flipped. Since when were human children allowed to possess a firearm?!

"It's not a gun," Russell said. "I mean, technically it is, but it's not a _real_ gun. It's a paintball gun. My dad got it from a dealer in the city by trading it for something. I forget what. Technically it's his but he's not here, and mine's in the trailer."

Russell went for one of the cabinets behind them. He took two packages down from the lowermost shelf.

"Paintball gun?" he repeated.

Russell knelt again beside him, "Yeah," he confirmed as he rummaged through the packaging. "It doesn't fire bullets. It uses these."

He spread his fingers apart. Held in his palm were a dozen colorful, spherical capsules that, like the name implied, were filled with paint. Bright pink paint to be specific.

He took one, "How would these be helpful against the invaders, Commander?"

Thuds came from outside. Russell snatched the paintball out from between his digits and stuffed it inside the container towards the back of the barrel, then he grabbed another handful from the packaging and added it in too. He heard the boy's phone vibrate. He laid the gun down and fished the device out. On the screen was a message saying " _Company's arrived_." Russell sent back a one-letter response: the letter "k." The thuds drew nearer. Russell dared to peek his head out from cover, the weapon clutched close to his chest, then drew back in a jerk of movement. His hand went into his pocket, eliciting a buzz from the device inside.

"Do we know if they can track cell phones?" he whispered.

He confessed ignorance. But it would probably be wise to keep it inactive either way. The device wasn't secure like their comm. links, and it had a power source.

Russell's communication device buzzed one last time and fell silent, the energy signal from the battery dying alongside it. How he intended to communicate with the rest of them he hadn't the faintest idea. The thuds faded. Russell dared to peek out again, from below just as before. He followed his example, stealing a glance from where the counter top edge ended. Thunderhoof's wide antlers and powerful frame was receding from sight, and both Airrazor and Divebomb were gone from the commons. He confirmed identity and reported the sighting to Fix-It in a short burst of data. The rest must've fanned out to scour the area.

"We need to get to the trailer so I can get the other gun for Fix-It," Russell whispered.

" _You_ need to. I can distract them to give you the needed opening, Commander."

"Just be careful," Russell insisted. "This is survival mode for hide and seek. We have one heart. We lose it –"

His helm nodded once in a sharp jerk. Every action had to count towards victory.

He crept out of cover, gingerly pushed the door open, and darted away from the trailer and down an isle that led to the pods and medical bay. Bumblebee, Sentenza, Smokescreen, Charity, Sideswipe, Strongarm all lay prone in the isle, their expressions frozen in pain, some still holding their hands to their audials in vain. Master Drift was no different. Frantically he scanned the lower shelves until he found something to serve his purpose: an old hubcap. Snatching it from its place, he beat it with his fist to earn the loud, clanging distraction he wanted. Thuds came from ahead of him, fast, lighter than Thunderhoof. Hubcap in hand, he hopped onto its shelf and transformed. Clampdown appeared from around the corner, the stalks of his optics pivoting around wildly. The instant they fell on the black and red Seeker he shrieked and stumbled back. The Scuttler didn't seem to notice the others – just Sentenza.

"I'm dead. I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead..." he moaned. "Deader than dead!"

Fracture arrived in the isle, blade drawn and his Deployers situated on his pauldrons again. He smirked and approached the downed Seeker. One pede struck out to meet her helm. The Seeker did not respond.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you, glitch?" he sneered.

"Don't!" Clampdown pleaded.

Fracture turned on him, the tip of his blade aimed at the Scuttler's faceplates, "Feeling sympathetic, are you?"

"No!" Clampdown insisted. "She may not be conscious, but the Night Lady might be. You know what She is now. She'll remember. And then your cycles are numbered."

His blade retreated only to wind up aimed at the Seeker's neck cables, "Won't be a threat if her neck's cut open."

Clampdown gasped.

Fracture's smirk became a twisted grin, "We can take them _all_ out, idiot. They can't fight back. And then there goes our little pest problem."

Fracture readied his blade.

* _Code Red! Code Red at my position!_ * he screamed to the others.

Pink erupted on the bounty hunter's posterior, earning a startled yelp followed by an amused snort from Clampdown. The mech snarled at the Scuttler and whirled in fury and suspicion towards the pod where the shot had come from. Seeing nothing, he turned to try again – and his backstrut was quickly plastered in bright pink paint. Annoyed, Fracture stalked towards the pod. It had to be either Russell or Fix-It, and he hoped it wasn't Russell.

 _WHAM!_

Something struck Fracture in the helm hard and fast from about six feet up – too fast to see. Then it was gone, leaving Fracture to howl and gingerly touch the open wounds on his faceplates – three, in a line, that tore right across and through his left optic. Talon marks! The owner struck again at Clampdown, leaving similar marks on the Scuttler's face. The form stayed slowed just long enough on the Scuttler for him to catch sight of Zodiac attacking Clampdown's optical stalks. And then she was gone completely, only a lingering keening cry in the air.

* * *

' _Thank the Primes for speed-gifteds._ '

Fracture and Clampdown now appropriately dazed, he whirred out from behind the pod and made for the shelf Slipstream was hiding on. As he squeezed under the lowermost shelf, hands grabbed him and yanked him. His yelp was paused by the hand that clamped over his mouth. A little silver hand with midnight blue trim and wrist armor. Zodiac's hand. She released him. He turned to find the Avioid crouched on her knee pikes. He shuttered his optics quickly on noticing her faceplates now had bright blue paint on them – thinly rounded splotches surrounded her optics, little tendrils reaching up from them to her forehelm and down towards her lower cheek. Two dots sat beneath each eye splotch.

War paint – the Predacon equivalent of throwing down the gauntlet.

Zodiac put a finger to her lip-plates before he could ask how in the Allspark she'd managed to find time to don war paint.

~ _thanks_ ~ ~ _apology_ ~

Her field snapped ~ _stillness_ ~ ~ _air_ ~ ~ _accept_ ~ before retreating into her frame. He followed her example.

Fracture's pedes stomped in their direction, each pede falling beyond the shelf. Clampdown's followed. Her hand clamped over his mouth again to prevent any noise. She wasn't even cycling air.

" _You wanna play dirty, feather-brain?!_ " Fracture screamed. " _Come on out and I'll show you how it's really done!_ "

They lingered for almost minute, right in front of them but oblivious.

Red suddenly appeared in his sight. Two red orbs and a twisted smirk.

"Boo."

They screamed together. Fracture reached under to grab the Avioid. Frantically he scrambled back and shoved her out of the way, forcing Fracture to grab him instead. As Zodiac cried in alarm and tried frantically to reach out and grab him, he shifted one hand into a electric prod and jabbed it into the mech's hand. Howling, Fracture released him, but soon enough the other hand came to invade, far more aggressive than its twin, swiping and grabbing wildly. He jabbed the limb again, eliciting another howl of pain. Fracture proceeded to curse as his hand withdrew.

"Divebomb!" he barked. "Deal with them!"

But Divebomb never appeared. He thought he heard a frightened noise from Fracture's left shoulder.

"Divebomb!" snarled Fracture.

The mini-con deployed. His tiny red optics glared at them as he squeezed beneath the shelf to reach them, but his tense plating said he was less than thrilled about dealing with what, in his mind, was a tiny feathered monster – one capable of striking him so fast he'd never see her. Snarling in threat, Divebomb lunged. He skirted to the side and jabbed the electric prod towards him, forcing Divebomb to the side to avoid it. Beyond the shelf, Fracture's hands lifted as he got back to his trods. Zodiac swiped with her small blade, jumping in front of him with her equally tiny buckler raised. Divebomb yelped when she struck him with the shield. He moved in front of her, one hand back to keep her at bay.

* _Keep Fracture away from the others!_ *

She backed off and left him. Fracture roared seconds later – not in pain but furious frustration, startling him enough to give the violet mini-con an opening to swipe at him, his claws raking across the x-crossed arms he held up in defense. The one-strike cannonade and grunt of pain that followed made Divebomb look behind him without thinking. He removed the paintball gun from his backstrut and fired it the instant he turned back, nailing the mini-con in one optic. When one clawed hand went up to wipe the paint off, he struck the butt of the gun into Divebomb's faceplates with as much force as he could muster. He dropped the gun and shoved him. He struck the mini-con once more in the helm for good measure. He poked him to make sure he was out, then emerged back into the sunlight. Fracture loomed over hefted the paintball gun.

The bounty hunter leered, "The fact you think a phony weapon is gonna help you win is _almost_ cute if it weren't so stupid."

He took better aim through trembling hands. Fracture was bigger, better trained. Did he really stand a chance? As he questioned himself, he remembered Tumbler's still, bleeding form and her yowl of agony. The trembling stopped. Something bubbled up from inside. Codes, red and angry, came into his processor. "Danger!" they roared. "Threat!"

" _This is for Tumbler_!"

He opened fire. The leering smirk vanished the instant pink burst into bloom on the taller mech's faceplates. Howling, blinded, he staggered back.

"Slipstream!" he barked.

The red disk on the shelf transformed, leapt from the lowermost shelf up to the second, then the third. Slipstream drew his weapon and jumped, striking the taller mech with the blunt end of his weapon hard enough to leave a dent on the side of Fracture's helm. Stumbling, the bounty hunter fell. Slipstream ensured he stayed down, and he made sure to cuff his wrists – they could interrogate him later. He heard Clampdown whimper and scuttle away. Slipstream gave chase.

* _Jetstorm? Status?_ *

* _Thunderhoof and Underbite closing in on second group._ *

* _Zodiac!_ *

* _On it!_ *

Above, the night sky streaked past in a rustle of wind.

* _Keep them busy over there. I have an idea!_ *

* _How much time do you need?_ *

* _As much as you and Jetstorm can buy me. Traps, guerrilla warfare, ambush tactics_ – _whatever you have to do_.*

Shouldering the paintball gun, he wheeled over to the diner where he assumed Russell still was, darting in and out of cover until the front door to the retro building was a mere span away. The instant he pushed the door open a barrel met him from behind the counter. Then it went down. Russell motioned him over behind the counter. A stockpile of plastic items was beside him – plastic utensils, plates, cups, anything he could find. Already thinking ahead, and apparently had his sights set on Underbite.

"Sorry," he apologized in a soft voice. "Thought you were one of Fracture's guys."

He didn't blame him, he said, for being watchful.

"Everyone's still out?"

He nodded, "But whatever rendered them unconscious must've stopped. The Pack would've collapsed otherwise, I think, unless they have some means of sonic protection. Considering who they work for that wouldn't surprise me."

Russell looked at him, "What do you mean?"

He opened his mouth only to close it. Heavy impacts on the ground in the pattern of a quadruped told of Underbite, and the roars he was making was of someone infuriated. High-pitched, quick keens and the persistent strikes of a blunt weapon narrowed down the cause. Jetstorm and Zodiac were happily wailing on the Chompozoid it seemed. He just hoped they stayed away from his snapping maw. Chompozoids weren't cannibals like Scavengebots, but Underbite had never once struck him as the picky sort, and neither mini-con was endearing themselves to him. Getting near enough to force some plastic into his maw wouldn't be easy. His optic strayed to the stockpile. An idea assailed him. He gestured at the stockpile of plastics and shifted one hand into a tiny ion torch. Russell's eyes enlarged to disks and he nodded, reading his charade correctly. One eyebrow rose and the boy pointed towards the commons, miming revving a motorcycle's engine through the handlebars. He shook his helm, increased the torch's temperature, and set to work melting the plastic until it was a molten lump on the ground. As it cooled, he began to shape it into something that roughly resembled a ball. Finished, he pointed at Russell, then out at the commons.

" _Me?_ " Russell mouthed.

"They can't track you," he whispered back, "and you can fit in places to hide the rest of us can't."

The boy's heart rate increased notably.

"Give me your smartphone, please," he requested.

Understandably wary, Russell fished into his pocket and brought out the deactivated smartphone. He altered one hand into a small port and connected to the device and was pleased to discover it had a wireless connective option. He dug into the smartphone's files and codes. It was short notice encryption, sloppily done, but it should serve for a while. Done, he handed the smartphone back to the boy, turning it on in the process and sending a text message to the device that explained his plan. Risky as the plan was, only Russell could help it become reality, and in the process save lives – because whether he knew it or not, Russell held a distinct advantage over the rest of the team that he planned to exploit. He just hoped everything went smoothly – and that Mr. Clay didn't smelt him down for endangering his offspring later.

"I'll stay as near to you as I can without getting you caught," he said. "And I'll gather more plastics for another sphere."

The boy hesitated for a moment. As he watched, his expression hardened. Nodding once in a sharp jerk of his head, he put the plastic ball into a spacious plastic bag (smart), slung the paintball gun over his shoulder through use of the strap, and, hunched in a sneak, slipped out the front door. He waited a minute, letting him get a decent distance, then followed him.

* * *

The plan was simple. And a little goofy. And dangerous. Mostly dangerous.

Getting close to Underbite was easier than he thought it would be. All he had to do was head for the auto section to find him chomping down on the hood of an old Chrysler while Zodiac angrily dive-bombed him like one seriously angry blue jay. He was lucky his dad wasn't there – he was pretty sure he would've ran in like a mad man and splattered him with paint for so much as _looking_ the wrong way at his precious babies. He could only watch in silent anger as Underbite reared up just as she slowed and swatted her to the ground.

"Strength beats speed," he gloated over her. "Now run along little birdy. This joint's mine now – and the city's next."

When Zodiac screamed at him in such a loud, high pitch that his ears rang, he was genuinely worried she'd leave him with hearing damage.

He glanced to his right where Fix-It was concealed behind an old Ferrari. The mini-con signaled him.

"Hey, fat face!" he cried.

Underbite's head snapped up in time for pink to splatter on his snout. His red eyes locked onto him as he strolled out from behind the Ford he was using as cover, sitting so close he was within kicking distance of the Chompozoid. He put the sphere on the ground and backed away five steps.

"Time for a new diet!"

Underbite laughed, "Whatever you're gonna do it ai–"

He had no idea Cybertronians could choke, but that was the closest he could get to describing Underbite's reaction to the plastic sphere sailing into his maw and, he guessed, getting lodged in his throat. Zodiac chirped her thanks at the opening and took off towards the commons. The instant he got it out of his throat, Fix-It tossed a sphere of his own into Underbite's mouth, making him gag and letting Fix-It get in close with his taser thing. Over and over he jabbed him with it, barking at Underbite to get off his ship. Underbite, whimpering at the attacks, began to look for a way out. Lunging, he ripped the hood from another car, earning him a jolt painful enough for him to cry out in pain and drop the hood. There was something in the mini-con's eyes, like a red haze, and his movement seems more mechanical than he was used to. In a storm of noise, dozens of guns emerged from hiding on Fix-It's body – the biggest ones on the shoulders.

Fix-It's voice, when it threatened Underbite to "Stand down!" sounded way more robotic than normal.

Everyone knew Fix-It had his "quirks" – but this was insane. They needed to subdue Underbite, not blast him to pieces. And where the heck had he gotten all those guns? Had he always had them?

From cover, he opened fire. Within seconds the Chompozoid's face was a coat of bright pink paint. Blinded, Underbite shook his head to try and get it off. Fix-It's shoulder-mounted guns spat blaster fire in a torrent until the Chompozoid fell sideways onto the ground like a downed mammoth.

Underbite mumbled something – he thought it sounded like "Dumb idea" or something like that – then went quiet.

Fix-It turned to face him, red-tinted blue eyes staring him down and guns ready to fire. He stepped back and put the paintball gun down. Fix-It didn't respond. In silence he turned away from him and wheeled off. The second he was out of sight he ducked behind the old Ford again, whipped out his smartphone, and called three numbers at once. He gave them fair warning and cut the line right after. He traded the smartphone out for the paintball gun and followed the thin wheel tracks in the dust back in the direction of the commons. He caught sight of him again in another isle that exited into the commons. Weird that he wasn't moving fast.

He yelped when someone grabbed him from the side and pulled him up onto a higher shelf. Shifting gears and body parts followed after.

It took almost a second for his brain to recognize the red, gold, and black disk on the shelf.

"Slipstream?" he whispered.

"We received your message, Commander," he whispered back, "but I would suggest we avoid the commons."

"What? Why?"

Slipstream transformed and pointed. He stuck his head out to follow and spotted a towering blue form lording over Grimlock and the others in his downed group. He couldn't hold back a gasp. Fix-It must've blown a fuse in his head if he thought he could take on Thunderhoof by himself!

"Where's Jetstorm?"

"Guarding Frostbite near the pods."

Smart.

"And Zodiac?"

"Observing enemy movement and relaying to Fix-It."

"Scrap."

"She's not anymore," he assured. "She is relaying to me now."

"Where's Windstorm?"

"He is unconscious near him. Jetstorm thinks he must have gone with Frostbite to investigate the noises coming from that area before –"

"Noises?" he repeated. "What noises?"

Slipstream shook his head, "Frostbite did not elaborate to Master Drift. All he heard from him before they both fell was _trecht_. Zodiac is not sure what it means, or if it is a full word. There is the chance he was cut off before he could finish."

He winced. Frostbite would've been hit the hardest by the sonic attack. He probably would have down and out before anyone else. But if he'd heard noises coming from over by the _pods_...

"Can you do me a favor?" he asked.

"Of course," answered the mini-con. "What is it you need me to do, Commander?"

He outlined his request. Slipstream agreed – up until he told him what he would be doing while he was off doing that favor.

Slipstream's face became concerned, "Is that wise, Commander?" he asked. "I have not seen Fix-It behave this way before."

He admitted that it was crazy, but he had no reason to think Fix-It would go after him no matter how weird he was acting now. He hadn't judged him a threat the first time so long as he'd done nothing to set him off. Maybe he was only going after Cybertronian targets. Slipstream, while reluctant, agreed with the reasoning. It would only make sense for a prison ship captain to be well-armed in case of a breakout, and it made further sense he wouldn't pay much heed to native life-forms – they weren't a threat.

"Please be careful regardless," the mini-con urged. "That is incredibly heavy weaponry he is outfitted with."

He promised he would be. He didn't want to get friendly with the business ends of those guns the way Thunderhoof was.

"...Why would you be friendly to a gun barrel?" wondered Slipstream.

He sighed, "It's just an expression, Slipstream. Get going, please. Search around the pods."

The mini-con nodded briskly, transformed, and ran off in the direction the pods. Fix-It must've heard him because he turned, guns ready and, to his shock, opened fire at the red and gold mini-con. Startled, Slipstream dodge-rolled out of the way. "No interference!" droned Fix-It. Thunderhoof took his chance and stomped one heavy foot into the dirt, making the ground up-heave like a small earthquake had hit. He had to grip onto the shelf to keep from falling. Rattling from above forced him back beneath the shelter of the shelf above just as a few antiques – lawnmowers and microwaves – went toppling from the upper shelves. He heard blaster fire; a few seconds later Thunderhoof gave a shout of surprise and a thud like a bus had been dropped. When the world stopped shaking he whipped his head around in frantic worry. There was no sign of Slipstream. Thunderhoof was down, dented in multiple places.

Fix-It was missing.

Blaster fire met his ears.

He jumped from the shelf and ran after her. He'd guessed right about Fix-It: he was going after only Cybertronian targets – and apparently that included friends. "Interference" Fix-It had labeled Slipstream. He hadn't even seemed to _recognize_ him when he'd said that. And he could do the same thing to Jetstorm and Zodiac if they came to help.

Stumbling around a corner, he pulled out his cell phone and called them both.

"Fix-It!" he said as he gasped for breath. "Something's wrong with him!"

They both, they said, had noticed.

" _We need to get him off Slipstream._ " urged Zodiac. " _Any bright ideas?_ "

"Actually, yeah," he told her. "But I need to borrow your shield."

* * *

 **Author's Note: I know, I know. Another shortie. Next one will be longer - I promise.  
**


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